Rowing In Eden
by Lady Razorsharp
Summary: Virgil and Kayo grew up together, but they're not kids anymore.
1. Little Sister

**AN: Nowhere (that I know of) is this ship canon, but I saw a hint of it in a fanwork, and decided to run with it. There's also a bit of the original 1965 series mixed in with TAG.**

 **The title of this story comes from a poem by Emily Dickinson.**

Rowing in Eden

By The Lady Razorsharp

One: Little Sister

When Tanusha Kyrano is eight years old, she accompanies her father to a funeral.

The funeral is for the wife of one of her father's closest friends and business associates; a young wife and mother, gone years before she ever should have. Tanusha has never been inside a church this beautiful or this big, and as she walks into St. Patrick's Cathedral in downtown New York City, she knows that this is a place where Heaven meets Earth. In this place, she is sure that the the marble angels will come to life, reach down, and carry Lucille Tracy up to God. She spends the whole service watching them, waiting for them to move, but they never do. By the time the service is over, she's made up her mind that the angels won't move while she's looking.

After the service, her father and his friend shake hands, then embrace for a long time. When they step apart, Tanusha notices that her father's friend, Mr. Tracy, is crying. She isn't sure how she feels about a grown-up crying, so she edges closer to the three Tracy boys, studying them as they stand near their father in their dark suits and polished shoes.

"Hi," she ventures. "My name's Tanusha."

The oldest nods, and the redhead gives her a little wave, but the third manages a small smile. "Hi. I'm Virgil." He points to the other boys. "That's my brother Scott, and my brother John."

Tanusha dips her chin. "How do you do?" She frowns. "Papa told me there were five of you."

"There are," Virgil confirms. "Except Gordon has the flu and Alan's a baby, so they're with my Grandma."

"I'm sorry about your mamma," Tanusha says. She does not remember her own mother and has a hard time imagining what it must have been like to have one, but she is still sorry.

Virgil looks at the floor. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she replies. "Do you want to hold my hand?"

Virgil thinks about it for a moment, then grasps her fingers. They stay that way all afternoon, two motherless children navigating the world (or at least a funeral reception) together.

She sees more and more of the Tracy boys after that sad day, and over time they accept her into their tightly knit band. Alan is only two, and can't say 'Tanusha', so he calls her 'Tin-Tin.' No one knows where he's come up with that, but it sticks, and until she goes away to school, that's who she is. Tin-Tin, scuffing her knees and spraining her fingers in games of Tracy-rules kickball. Tin-Tin with towheaded Alan toddling behind until she scoops him up and carries him on her hip. Tin-Tin, getting into a fight with hotheaded eldest brother Scott, walking away triumphant with clothes in disarray and a shiner purpling one of her olive-green eyes.

When she returns from her four-year stint at boarding school, 'Tin-Tin' is gone, but she doesn't feel like a 'Tanusha', either. After he and his brothers pick their jaws up off the floor (she figures it has something to do with gaining curves and losing the braces), it's Virgil who suggests 'Kayo.'

And so she has been content to remain. She's still the sister, but now she's a partner as well, the unofficial six to their five. They all love her; she's family and has been for as long as half the group can remember.

So why, she wonders, is she lying awake in the middle of a freezing Siberian night, drenched in sweat despite the blizzard that howls outside, unable to shake the phantom touch of Virgil Tracy's hands on her body, sliding and caressing and moving where they will? And not just his hands, she muses, rolling over to turn on the bedside lamp; she can't stop thinking of his mouth on hers, on the spot just at the edge of her collarbone, hot and wet and trailing down, down, making her gasp and writhe and bend her body into his, demanding more-

Kayo shudders, her skin rising into gooseflesh. She's being ridiculous. She needs sleep. She needs to focus.

But oh, she needs him, too.


	2. Freight Train

Two: Freight Train

It's nights like this, when the house is so quiet that he can hear the waves against the rocks, that he thinks about her the most.

She's always in the back of his mind, a shadow in more ways than one. The reliable one. The trustworthy one. Always has his back. Ready to go at a moment's notice. Asset to the team.

Lying flat on his back in his room on Tracy Island, Virgil closes his eyes yet again in an attempt to sleep-and once again, the need to be with Kayo slams into him, washing over him and leaving him helpless in its wake.

He snorts. It isn't about physical need; he knows how to fix that. No, this is about Kayo herself; the smell of her, the feel of her heavy dark hair skimming across his chest, how his muscle and her curves seem like they've been created to make a perfect contrast. Granted, she has muscle of her own; her arms are sharply defined, and she has the best set of abs he's ever seen. He's watched her win the silver at the '65 Olympics in the 100m hurdles. He's seen her sling an unconscious man across her shoulders and carry him to safety.

He rolls over and taps the control on the lamp beside his bed, making the familiar room come to life around him. Living with a half-dozen other people-one of those being his grandmother-in a house made of glass makes it difficult to participate in an assignation, so he can count on one hand the times that Kayo has dared to venture into his room. She doesn't belong here, so close to the place that means family and their life with International Rescue. She belongs in a secret place, one that holds only the two of them, breathing and moving and pouring themselves into each other.

She isn't his first; that dubious honor belongs to Selina Ledbetter, one of his fellow counselors at Space Camp when he was seventeen. That fumbling, hurried encounter in a dusty storeroom was nothing like being with Kayo, and he's privately embarrassed to consider them as related events. However, _he_ was _Kayo's_ first...

He smiles, letting the memory of that night roll over him, as the waves continue to crash against the rocks outside his window.


	3. Come Undone

**Three: Come Undone**

Kayo's home from school, and the graduation dinner is winding up in the house. The rest of the group is settling to a movie or their own studies or bed. The garden is reeking with syrupy sweet lilies, but the view of the stars is fantastic, so Virgil goes for a walk-and is suddenly snatched into a close darkness that smells of potting soil and weed killer. If they weren't at home, his assailant would be flat on their face in the dirt, but he manages to stay calm as a lithe body presses itself against him. Over the musty smell of the shed, the scent of Shalimar rises in the hot space between them as Kayo's mouth finds his.

Kayo only wears perfume on special occasions, so the scent is new enough to make him want to linger in it, to explore how it perfectly reflects the girl-no, young woman-wearing it. However, the simple fact that his brain is telling him that he not only wants her, but needs her, pings a warning. "Kay. Mmmh. Kayo." He pulls back a fraction. "We can't do this, Kay."

Her hands have found their way under the hem of his shirt, making them both a little breathless as she retorts: "Yes we can. We talked about this. I'm eighteen now."

"Okay, the night we 'talked' about this, both of us had snuck way too much champagne from John's graduation party." As much as he wants to stop talking and go back to kissing, twenty-year-old Virgil is trying to be the older one, the responsible one, and he needs to get out of this shed. "We can't keep playing around like this."

She steps back to fix him with an arched eyebrow. "Only one of us in this shed has been playing around, and it's not me."

Virgil sits heavily on a stack of bagged mulch. "So I had a couple dates. Scott would start wondering if I acted like a hermit." He scoffs. "I never took you for the jealous type."

"I'm not," she counters, just a little too quickly for it to be the truth. "It's just-we _talked_ about it, Virgil."

"I'm not a monk," Virgil protests.

"Slut," she shoots back.

" _Experienced_. There's a difference."

Olivine eyes narrow, pinning him like laser sights in the darkness. "Is that the reason you want to wait with me? So you can keep adding notches on your bedpost until you decide it's time to get serious?"

"No! I just…" He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands. "You're not like the others, Kay. I just...don't want to mix you up with them."

"You're right," she growls. "I'm _not_ like the others." She steps up to him, so close that he has to tip back against the wall to keep her in view. Slowly, her right hand comes up to pull the elastic band from her hair, letting the heavy length of it fall around her shoulders.

"What are-" Virgil begins, but his words die on his lips as Kayo strips off her tank top, leaving her clad in jeans and a white cotton brassiere. Virgil's eyes focus on the tiny white satin bow dead center between her breasts, and he's finding it difficult to breathe.

In just a moment, the brassiere is dangling from her hand. Then it's on the floor, and she's kneeling between his jean-clad thighs, her hands going for the buttons of his Levi's. Virgil presses himself into the boards at his back, eyes wide and the words rushing from him. "Kayo, I- _Agh!_ Stop!" He pushes her hands away, desperately trying to catch his breath. "Listen to me. We can't do this."

"Why not?" She sends a stream of warm air fluttering against the fine hairs just below his navel, grinning as he shivers. "We're both consenting adults, aren't we?"

"It's not that." He brushes his knuckles against her cheek, another shudder running through him as she turns to nip at the skin on his wrist with perfect teeth. "I wanted to take you someplace with candles and a huge bed with a ton of pillows, or to the beach at sunset." He snorts. "Not a rusty gardening shed fifty yards from four guys who call you their sister."

"We can always change the scenery," Kayo purrs.

Ten minutes later, the two of them are ensconced in the hurricane shelter deep below the villa. The room is a bit dusty, but smells of cedar rather than rust and noxious chemicals. Virgil lights the camping lantern and pulls down one of the bunks that line the walls, then hikes himself up with a bounce to check the steadiness of the infrequently-used bed. He grins at Kayo, who put her shirt on over her bare skin for the trip. "All the comforts of home."

Kayo doesn't say a word; instead, she turns the lantern down to cast the room in shifting shadows, then slowly removes her shirt once more. She bends down to capture Virgil's mouth with hers, leaning on one hand and letting the other dip once more into the waistband of his jeans. Her touch is too much too soon, and Virgil gasps.

"No, wait-" He seizes her wrist, stilling her motion against him. "Slowly, Kay. This isn't a race." He feels her nod, and now she pops the brass buttons open one by one, teasing, and he growls in the back of his throat. Kayo smiles, her eyes like smoldering coals in the half-light. In thrall, Virgil lets his head loll back against the metal wall and his eyes drift shut.

Time passes in a blur and stretches like molasses all at once as Kayo brings gasps and sharp exhales and long, low moans from him. Too soon for his liking, he pushes her away, and she sits up, looking confused and a little hurt. "No, it's okay," he reassures her, and reaches down to pull her to her feet. She kicks off her shoes, then peels away her jeans and the scrap of lace clinging to her hips. Flexible as a sapling from gymnastics and karate, Kayo lets Virgil pull her into his lap and settles herself with her knees framing his hips. Virgil pulls his shirt off over his head, and they are skin to skin, Shalimar and sweat, and _now they are one and the same_ , moving together, until she stiffens with a tiny, pained cry.

"Shhh," Virgil whispers into her hair. "We'll go slow. I won't hurt you, I swear, Kayo. I won't hurt you."

He guesses that she believes him, because now she's moving again, pulling him with her into a twilight haze where time has stopped. Sweet agony builds in Virgil until he's sure he's going to twist himself inside out reaching for more, going higher and higher, like pushing the throttle in TB2 past the red zone, into the sky-

Kayo gasps and shudders and says his name in a rush of breath that pushes him just that much higher-and now he's tumbling, falling, all the good in the world concentrated into a half dozen pulses of brightness behind his eyes. When Virgil can see again, he realizes that they're staring at each other, breathing hard and beginning to smile. A giggle slips out of Kayo.

"Wow," she murmurs. " _Wow_."

Virgil grins. "You were _amazing_. Where did you learn to do _that?_ "

Kayo laughs softly. "Girls talk late at night in boarding school. They thought I was sleeping, but I heard every word."

Suddenly, a thought pushes through the drowsiness that's beginning to descend on Virgil's brain. "Wait, Kayo-I didn't think about-what if you get pregnant?" Scott will kill him, _Grandma_ -

"I took care of that months ago," Kayo informs him. "I've been waiting for this."

She dips her head to kiss him again. This one is long, slow, and sweet, and he wishes they didn't have to leave this place and let the rest of the world back in again.


	4. Stone Cold Crazy

**AN: This might be just a tad out of character for Virge, but keep in mind: He's only 20. He's human. And sometimes humans do some really, really stupid things.**

 **Four: Stone Cold Crazy**

It's late, and Virgil is up rummaging through the fridge while the house sleeps. The only light is from the refrigerator and the moonlight spilling through the windows. He's so focused on his task and so sure he's alone that he doesn't hear the sneakered footsteps on the teak boards.

"Virgil."

The newly minted pilot of Thunderbird 2 turns just in time to see a loose rectangle of white streaking toward him, and he snatches it out of the air. It unfolds itself in his hands: Kayo's brassiere, left on the floor of the gardening shed.

There's no point in denying it, so Virgil just stands there and looks up into his eldest brother's stormy face. "Yeah?"

Scott's eyes glitter coldly in the half-light. " _Stay away from her_."

The cotton is soft in his calloused hands, and despite himself, Virgil feels a slow flush of heat come over him as he recalls the time spent with the garment's wanton owner. "She's the one who came on to _me_ ," Virgil shrugs. "I tried to get her to stop, but she just kept at it." Another shrug. "What's a guy supposed to do when you've got someone like her in your face?"

Scott crosses his arms over his chest. "Oh, so you just couldn't help it, huh?"

"Not really." Virgil gestures to the scrap of fabric. "It got outta hand pretty quick."

Scott shudders, closes his eyes and turns away. "Are you even _listening_ to yourself? This is _Kayo_ we're talking about! Alan still calls her 'Tin-Tin'!"

Virgil scoffs. "She's all grown up, lemme tell ya."

His older brother flushes to the roots of his hair. "See _, this_ is one of those times I'm ashamed to admit we're related."

"It was just the once," Virgil protests. "She and I had...well, we'd made sort of a promise that when she turned eighteen...I'd be her first." The heat from the memory is intensifying, and things are going to get _really_ awkward if he can't get away from this conversation soon.

When he looks back on the sequence of events a few hours later, Virgil decides that this confession is what pushes Scott over from a slow burn of anger to full-on rage. For an instant, the world goes blinding white and does a dizzying flip. Virgil blinks and realizes that he's on the floor, his jaw is killing him, and Scott is standing over him with bloody knuckles.

"She's our _sister!"_ Scott howls, too angry to care that the rest of the house can hear him. "We're supposed to _protect_ her!"

"I am!" Virgil bellows. "I was!" He scrambles to his feet. "I wanted her first time to be with someone she trusted. Someone who wouldn't hurt her. Someone who would still be there when it was over."

Blood drips from Scott's hand, but he's either ignoring it or he can't feel it. "So now it's over, and you're just going to go on to the next one?" Scott accuses. "You couldn't just treat her with the respect she deserves and keep your hands off her until some decent guy could come along-"

Beyond the pain thrumming through his head, a sickening realization begins to dawn on Virgil. "Oh, _no_. It's _you_ , isn't it?"

To Virgil's horror, Scott's eyes fill with tears. "Shut up."

The heat drains from Virgil, leaving his veins filled with ice. "Scott, I'm sorry, I didn't-you never said-"

The words come out from between gritted teeth. "Do you love her?"

"What? Of course I do, she's-"

"No." Scott's voice is like tolling doom. "You don't. Otherwise you'd never have done this."

Now it's Virgil's turn to clench his fists. "She was half of that, you know! Keep that in mind before you throw me under the bus, okay, Mr. Perfect? Your _sweet little sister_ knew _exactly_ what she was doing."

Scott takes two steps backward, shaking his head in a desperate attempt at denial, and Virgil's stomach drops into the floor. "Scott, waitaminute," he cautions, taking a step toward his older brother. "I didn't mean it like that. Please-" He grinds to a halt. "Just-take it out on _me_. Don't take it out on _her_."

"Oh, I _intend_ to take it out on _you_ ," Scott murmurs, and the words send a finger of chill down Virgil's spine. "From this moment, your operations for International Rescue have been halted until I decide what to do with you."

Virgil tightens his fists so hard, he feels his knuckles pop. "What's that for?" he yells. "This has _nothing_ to do with our work!"

"It has _everything_ to do with our work," Scott snarls. "If we're not a team, we might as well just give up and let the 'Birds rust where they sit. I'm not putting my life in your hands if I can't trust you to do what's _right_ and not just what _you_ want to do."

As he watches Scott walk away, Virgil is barely aware that his own eyes have filled with tears.

And even though guilt stains him to the marrow, the only thing he can think about is finding Kayo and letting her make him forget any of this ever happened.


	5. Sharp Dressed Man

**Five: Sharp Dressed Man**

Virgil is not fond of parties.

Well, he thinks, as he downs the last of his glass of champagne, it depends upon the party. This one leaves much to be desired.

Being the third son of a multi-billionaire as well as a member of International Rescue, he receives invitations on a regular basis; all the first four Tracy brothers do, and Alan is beginning to get his share. Galas, charity balls, state dinners, even the occasional debutante ball of one or another daughter of the head of a TI subsidiary-there's rarely a weekend in the year that goes by without at least one Tracy receiving an invitation to some high-class shindig. All the invites go to the Tracy Industries HQ in New York City, where they are digitized and forwarded to the Tracy Island comm for perusal by the invitees. Normally, these are all treated as a kind of junk mail, since IR's schedule rarely allows for any Tracy to make an appearance. Tasteful replies and notes of regret are automatically sent out, if Virgil hasn't personally flagged something for attendance.

In those rare instances that Virgil is willing and able to attend, a courteous reply of acceptance is sent, much to the thrill of the paparazzi. All five brothers are considered to be drop-dead gorgeous and extremely eligible by their legions of adoring female fans. Photos of the brothers fetch thousands of dollars apiece-especially if the photo also includes a comely young lady on said Tracy's arm.

Virgil finds it all just a bit distracting and tiresome. He flags down a passing waiter and exchanges his empty glass for a full one, and then drains it by at least a third. He's pretty sure that the golden wine is scandalously expensive, and that the person who chose it for this party would be appalled at the way he's treating it. The thought brings a rueful smile to his face, and he tosses down the rest of the glassful.

He stands in a semi-secluded corner near a potted palm and observes his surroundings for a moment. All of the women, from young to middle-aged, are dressed to kill in every color of the spectrum. All the women are beautiful, and many are very wealthy in their own right. He catches a glimpse of himself in the polished brass pot in front of him: Dark hair gelled and tousled to just the right degree of rakishness; his father's deep amber eyes set above a face with his mother's high cheekbones; a cleft chin and chiseled features that are pinned on dorm room doors the world around. In short, he's not bad to look at, especially when his 6'2", 225lb frame is poured into an exquisitely cut jet-black tuxedo.

Virgil smirks to himself. Each brother has a party personality that's well known by the tabloid press. Scott is somewhat aloof, wearing his Armani suits with the ease of an old shirt and flashing his dual dimples at hyperventilating girls. John is polite, if distracted, and prefers to spend the entire party talking to a colleague or a former classmate rather than mingling. Gordon is the life of the party, making everyone laugh and flirting like mad with everything wearing a dress. On the rare occasion that Alan has made an appearance, he's immediately surrounded by women who either want to take him home and feed him or make a man out of him.

Virgil knows that he's got something of a reputation as a player, that he's just a little too fast for everyone's comfort. He's aware that girls are warned against him, that he's been pegged as 'trouble'-the kind of trouble that winds up on the front pages of the gossip mags. _Notches on a bedpost. Too sexy for his own good. Bedroom eyes._ He's heard it all. A few years ago-right after the confrontation with Scott over Kayo, in fact-he had to admit that reputation was well-deserved; there had been several instances where the legal side of Tracy Industries (as well as his eldest brother and grandmother) had to issue stern warnings about his behavior. These days, however, Virgil's interest has turned in a singular direction. That, he muses, is why the parties are now more a duty than a pleasure.

He reaches into his pocket and brings out a slim gold case; clicking it open reveals a cache of cigarettes. Virgil takes one and clicks the case shut, then replaces the case in his pocket. In his family, smoking is a mortal sin, so this is more of keeping up his image rather than any sort of actual habit. However, it still gives him a schoolboy thrill to thumb the matching gold lighter into life and stand with the cancer stick smouldering away between his fingers, like he's seen in old photos of his father.

Except tonight, he can't find his lighter. He sorts through his pockets, and sighs inwardly as he finds that he has accumulated no fewer than six phone numbers and emails, all with notes attached ranging from the simple and direct 'Call Me' to missives bordering on pornographic. This is by no means unexpected; in fact, there is a friendly competition between the brothers as to who can collect the most numbers in a single night. No one has yet to beat Scott's record of fourteen, but Gordon is the upstart favorite, coming in with eleven the last time he went out.

"Need a light?"

The voice to his right is low and silky, and Virgil turns toward it to find a woman in her late twenties beside him. She is just a bit shorter than he, slender where he is bulky, and blonde where he is dark. Her eyes are so light blue that they look almost grey, and she's dressed in a charmeuse gown the color of ripe cherries. A lace wrap dyed to match drips from her arms, and garnets and diamonds wink from her ears, wrist, and throat. She is holding out a lit lighter.

"Thanks." Virgil lights the cigarette and takes an experimental drag; it's been a while and it wouldn't do to choke to death while trying to look like a rakish playboy. "I think that's my line, though."

The woman clicks the lighter shut, replaces it in her tiny beaded bag, and fixes Virgil with a smile. "Those things'll kill you."

He shrugs. "So I'm to understand." He extends a hand. "Virgil Tracy."

The woman takes his hand and presses his fingers lightly. "Madeline Collins."

"How do you do, Ms. Collins?" Virgil looks around at the milling crowd. "Are you enjoying the party?"

Madeline turns to look as well. "I think it's the same crowd of stuck-up idiots I saw last weekend." She turns back to him with a slightly mocking smile. "Present company excepted, of course."

"No, you're right," Virgil counters, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette into the brass pot. "I'm one of those stuck-up idiots, have been for years." This of course is an outright lie, but again, it's part of his image and affords him a bit of distance. He's just glad his grandmother can't hear him. However, as a precaution, he glances down at his watch and reassures himself that the comm is disabled to all but the most urgent of emergencies.

"Are you here with anyone?"

A few years ago, those words would have been the starting gun for festivities that had nothing to do with an actual celebration. Tonight, it's just a painful reminder that yes, he's here alone. "No, I thought I'd go stag tonight," he says aloud.

Madeline's perfectly manicured brows raise a fraction. "Virgil Grissom Tracy, third son of the Tracy dynasty, dashing member of International Rescue, and _Global Today_ 's youngest 'Sexiest Man Alive', can't find a date? What's the world coming to?"

"It was short notice," he explains. _Very_ short, actually, since the invitation was really for Scott, and he and Thunderbird One were asked to make an appearance at the graduation ceremony for the Air Force Academy-Scott's alma mater-in Colorado Springs. Scott had forwarded the party invitation to Virgil's comm with the note: _You're up._

Virgil takes one last drag on his cigarette and glances toward the door, wondering if he can make good his escape any time soon. However, he barely keeps from coughing as he sees who has just arrived: A slender, olive-skinned woman wearing a sleeveless dress of black crepe jersey, its deep v-cut neckline tantalizing onlookers with a glimpse of her lovely decollete. A diamond tennis bracelet on her right wrist catches the light with a soft glimmer, and the red soles of her four-inch Louboutin pumps flash as she moves easily through the crowd. In her hand, she carries a black satin clutch decorated with a crystal-studded buckle that echoes the jeweled clasp of the black leather belt at her waist. Her hair is caught up in a simple chignon, but pieces have been artfully loosened to frame her face. Her olive-green eyes, emphasized with dramatic black eyeliner, scan the room as if looking for nobody in particular.

Kayo has arrived, and it seems that no one except Virgil has noticed.

Just in time, he keeps himself from breaking into a grin at the sight of her. Instead, he keeps it cool and turns back to his conversation with Madeline, though he can tell that she knows something's up by the way she turns to survey the crowd, no doubt hoping to find the person who has caught his attention. He grinds his cigarette out in the dirt of the potted palm, grateful for an end to the charade.

"Well, Mr. Tracy, it just so happens that I'm here by myself as well," Madeline purrs. "How about we go someplace where the company is a bit more...agreeable?" She fingers his satin lapel and moves closer. "Shall I put myself into some impossible situation so you can swoop in and save the day?"

"I'll respectfully decline." Virgil removes her hand from his lapel and steps back. "It was nice meeting you, Ms. Collins." Aware that Madeline is glaring daggers into his back, Virgil walks calmly away and goes to find the one woman in the world he wants to see.

Except when he reaches the place where he last saw her, Kayo is nowhere to be found. Nonchalantly, he sticks his hands in his pockets and wanders through the crowd, careful not to catch anyone's eyes, though he can feel several pairs watching his progress. Just as he's about to reach the edge of the crowd, someone reaches out a hand to catch him by the elbow.

"Virgil," says a gravelly male voice, and Virgil turns to see Matthew Richardson, the head of one of TI's research and development branches. The boys have known him long enough that they used to call him 'Uncle Matt.'

"Matt." Virgil is genuinely pleased to see the man and shakes his hand warmly even though it means Kayo's trail will have gone cold by the time he manages to disengage himself. "Good to see you."

"And you, my boy." Richards smiles. "Glad to see a Tracy classing up the joint."

Virgil grins. "It's a tough job." He flicks a glance over Matt's shoulder, but sees nothing of Kayo in the split second his eyes are off of his father's friend. "Listen, it's great to see you, but I-"

"Hang on, son." Matt holds up a hand, stopping Virgil in his tracks. "You're probably off chasing down some lovely lady, but before you go-" He searches the crowd for a moment. "Where is-ah, yes. Here she is." Matt reaches into a knot of partygoers and beckons one of them forward. "Virgil Tracy, I'd like you to meet Tanusha Kyrano. She's going to be testing some of our newest tech in the field for us."

Kayo steps forward and reaches out one hand to Virgil. "How do you do, Mr. Tracy?" she says, her face impassive behind her genteel smile. "It's a pleasure to meet one of Jeff Tracy's boys. My father has told me so much about you."

Virgil smirks inwardly. _Two can play that game._ "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Kyrano."

The three of them chat amiably for a few moments, and then Kayo turns to Virgil with another impassive, bland smile. "I'm afraid I must excuse myself," she says, her voice tinged with just the right amount of apology. "I have another engagement that I cannot miss." She reaches out to Virgil and shakes his hand once more. "I do hope we'll see more of each other soon." She gives Matt a friendly wave. "See you on the testing range," she calls, and then she's gone.

"Lovely girl," says Matt, turning to Virgil with a raised avuncular eyebrow. "Would you like me to, ah, let you know when Ms. Kyrano will be working with us?"

"So I can just happen to be in the neighborhood?" Virgil laughs, and it's genuine. "Uncle Matt, are you trying to set me up?"

Matt chuckles. "Well, why not? She's intelligent, adventurous, and is hands down the hottest woman in this room. You could do worse."

Virgil grins and claps Matt on the shoulder. "I gotta go. Say hi to the family for me."

As he exits the ballroom, his comm pings with a message, and it's three numbers: _537_. He smiles to himself and goes to find the elevator to the fifth floor.

When Kayo opens the door to room 537, she is still in her beautiful dress, but she's removed the killer shoes. Virgil stands in the doorway, a bottle of Cristal in one hand and two glasses in the other. "Why, _Mr. Tracy_. Fancy meeting you here," Kayo quips, and stands aside to let him enter.

"I _know_ ," he shoots back as she closes the door. "What a coincidence, _Ms. Kyrano_." He deposits the bottle and glasses on a side table and then pulls her into his arms, but she makes a face and turns away.

"Ugh. You're still doing the smoking thing, aren't you?"

"It was only one," he protests. "I do it so people stay away."

"It's effective." Kayo crosses her arms. "You need a new strategy."

"Wanna help me work on one?" He brushes his lips against her neck, and she raises her chin, encouraging him to continue pressing light kisses upward toward her ear.

"I thought you'd never ask," she replies, and turns in his embrace so that his lips can find hers.

As Kayo's fingers tug at the knot of Virgil's tie, one of his hands dips into the front of her dress to cup the smooth roundness of a breast. She exhales a long, slow breath, and in a moment his hands have tugged the neckline off her shoulders, baring her skin to his teasing tongue. Kayo clicks open the clasp of the belt, allowing the fluid material to slither to the floor beside Virgil's jacket. With a wicked smile, she grips the collar of his shirt and tugs hard; buttons clatter in all directions as the threads give way.

"Hey," he growls, his grin just as wicked. "You're gonna buy me a new shirt."

Kayo's hands are already at the waistband of his pants. "Take it out of my salary," she breathes, grinning as he pushes her hands away to undo the belt himself.

"I'd like to be able to wear at least some part of this suit again," he counters, dropping the belt on the carpet. "Watch the zipper; I had a hell of a time explaining to my tailor with the last one."

She laughs deep in her chest, but duly takes care as she slowly unzips the fly of his slacks. The too-heavy hands of an eighteen-year-old virgin have long since been replaced by more experienced ones, and Virgil's eyes roll back in his head as she demonstrates her finesse.

"Wait, Kay. It's been too long; you gotta stop." Kayo steps back, letting Virgil drop the pants onto the growing heap of discarded garments. "Why don't we-"

"Go somewhere a little more comfortable?" she finishes breathlessly, tugging him toward the bedroom of the suite.

He grins. "My thoughts exactly."

Kayo opens the door to the bedroom, and Virgil stops in his tracks. "Oh, wow," he murmurs. "Kayo, this is- _wow_." The darkened space glimmers with hundreds of tiny lights draped from every surface, as if they have stepped into the middle of their own private galaxy. The bed itself, a monstrous expanse of ivory linen piled high with a small mountain range of pillows, glows faintly golden in the light.

"It's a little safer than candles," Kayo explains, "but at least the bed is huge."

Virgil pulls her into his arms and simply holds her close. "How many pillows?"

"Fourteen. I counted."

Virgil rears back to fix her with a smile. "Thank you."

She clasps her hands around the back of his neck. "Oh, I think you can do better than _that,_ " she purrs.

And for the next long while, Virgil sets about proving that she's right.


	6. Don't Fade Away

**Six: Don't Fade Away**

Thunderbird Shadow is a force to be reckoned with. She is the fastest, the sleekest, the stealthiest 'Bird in International Rescue's arsenal. The world at large is not aware that TBS is actually the sixth member, and that's by design. With her daring pilot at her helm, she can go places the other five can't. She's the offensive in their defense, the one that seeks out the _why_ and the _who_ and the _how_ behind some of IR's nastiest situations.

However, she is also just a machine. She is capable of failing her pilot, of being unavailable just at the precise moment she is so desperately needed. It's rare, but there have been moments when John turns to his brothers as he does now, and speaks four of the most wrenching words in the English language: " _Thunderbird Shadow is missing."_

The other four exchange alarmed glances, each of them knowing that it's Kayo's job to be absolutely nowhere that anyone can find her-except John; he always knows where she is. Today, he doesn't, and Virgil feels himself get to his feet and take two steps toward John's ghostly form.

"What do you mean, she's missing?" he growls. He can feel Gordon and Alan looking questions at him, but he ignores them.

John is looking past his younger brother at something only he can see, and his hands wipe away phantom screens. "Her beacon has gone dark. Her last position was in the Swiss Alps; I'll send the coordinates now."

Before the numbers can transmit, Virgil is already heading for his load chute. "I'll go get her," he says curtly, even though Scott is on the move and trying to intercept him.

"Wait, Virge," Scott calls. "We don't know if she's still there. Let's get some more data before you go haring off on some wild goose chase."

"Send it to me; I'll get it on the way." Virgil touches the hidden switch on the panel, and Scott is too late to catch him as he tips back into the chute, the robotic arm catching his shoulders with just the barest jolt down his spine. He wonders, not for the first time, if years from now he will have a bad back from repeated trips down the load chute. Not for the first time, he puts such thoughts out of his head and concentrates on his objective: Get TB2 in the air, _now_.

As first his uniform and then his gear is pressed, strapped, and molded to his body, Virgil's mind is filled with nothing but thoughts of Kayo, how she smells, how she tastes. Her voice is in his ear, and beneath his gloves, he can feel her skin against his. He lays his head back against the cradle for a moment as he rockets toward TB2's launch bay, fixing her features in his mind.

"Hold on, Kay," he grits, grasping the bars and swinging down into the bay of the great green machine. "I'm coming." He tugs the heavy hatch shut, letting the sound act as the period at the end of his sentence.

In just a few moments, his cargo has loaded (snow rescue module, with gear specialized to handle mountainous terrain) and his father's voice echoes in his earpiece. _Five. Four. Three. Two. One!_ He flicks the ignition switch, pushes the throttle forward, and the jets howl into life. As TB2 pulls up and away from the island, data is already flowing from John's array into TB2's central computer. "Thunderbird Two is go," Virgil recites, passing the outer radar buoy.

"Right behind you," says Scott, and Thunderbird One rockets past him into the sky. Virgil's throat is suddenly tight, and he guesses that his lack of response has said all that needs to be said. "I'm worried about her too, Virge." This from Scott, on the private comm, so no one else can hear their conversation.

Virgil smiles faintly to himself, recalling the night when two much younger brothers hurled insults and punches at one another over Kayo. Scott's hurt and anger have dimmed in the years since, though Virgil is careful to pursue his relationship with her out of Scott's line of sight. With a sudden lurch in the pit of his stomach that has nothing to do with turbulence, Virgil realizes that this joint venture is Scott's concession, his gentlemanly way of throwing in the towel where Kayo is concerned. He's let his dream fade, and for a moment, Virgil aches for Scott.

"Hey, Scotty." Virgil's voice is rough with emotion, and the words stick in his throat.

Scott is once more the older brother he has always depended on, the one who'll put things right when a little brother is in trouble. "Don't worry, Virge," he replies, sounding very much like their father. "We'll get her back."

They're almost to the coordinates John gave them when Scott's voice crackles in Virgil's ear. "Oh, _no._ "

Virgil is already turning TB2's blunt nose to come around, and the sight that greets him through the windscreen is the one he hoped never to see: Thunderbird Shadow, cracked nearly in half, wreckage strewn over a mile of rocky hillside. There is a light dusting of snow over everything, meaning that it's stormed since the crash. Virgil's mind spits out a litany of bad news: _Hypothermia. Blunt trauma. Oh, Kayo, please…_

Overhead, TB1 has found an aerie and is slowly making its descent. Virgil scans the rocks below, hoping to find solid footing for TB2's four extendable landing skids. The scan locks, the machine settles, and Virgil is out of his harness and down the ladder almost before the engines can fully power down. The frigid wind is howling, but he cups his hands around his mouth and sends forth a mighty yell: " _Kayo!"_

"Over here!" Scott's voice is patchy over the comm, but Virgil looks up through the falling flakes to see his brother stow his rappelling gun and thump to his knees in a mound of white. In a split second, Virgil joins him, and together they scrape away the snow to reveal Kayo, curled on her right side. Blood is smeared from her temple to her jawline, and her flightsuit is torn from flying shrapnel. Her lips are blue; Virgil prays it's just from cold.

"Let's get her into TB2," Virgil snaps, before running back to retrieve the hard backboard and straps to stabilize Kayo's spine. As they work, Virgil realizes with a distant part of his mind that he and Scott are an efficient team, and that he's honored to have Scott on this rescue.

Soon, Kayo's unresponsive body is secure, and Virgil attaches a set of lines in order to winch her into the bay. Scott grabs the rewarming blanket and spreads it out over the woman he might have loved. Both brothers heave a sigh of relief as the blanket begins to do its work, and Kayo's gorgeous eyes open to barest slits.

She smiles faintly. " _Two_ Tracys. S'my lucky day."

They stop off in a Swiss GDF hospital for the verdict: Exposure, concussion, cracked pelvis, broken leg. Kayo will be the guest of the Swiss Confederation for a few days until she's stable enough to travel back to Tracy Island, and when she wakes, it's Scott who is sitting beside her, his fingers twined in hers. His thumbs rub the back of her hand, and his eyes are far away. She makes a noise in the back of her throat, and Scott blinks.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he murmurs. "It's about time you joined the party."

Kayo sighs. "Can't I just...send regrets?"

He cracks a smile. "How are the drugs?"

"Lovely." Despite the admission, her eyes lose their sleepiness for just an instant. "Virgil-"

Scott shushes her. "He's here," he says, with a jerk of his head toward the other bed, where his younger brother is catching a quick nap. "He went charging after you as soon as he heard you were missing." He shrugs. "I thought I'd tag along and keep an eye on him. No sense in the two of you getting into trouble."

Kayo's smile widens, though her speech is still fuzzy. "Big brother," she quips. "Come to save the day."

"Guilty as charged." Scott continues to stroke the back of her hand, taking care not to disturb the IV delivering the cocktail of painkillers. "Do you remember what happened?"

She considers the ceiling tiles for a long moment, then shakes her head. "No. Maybe later. Too...too many pieces."

"It's okay," Scott reassures her. "We'll talk about it later. Just get some rest." He leans over and presses a brotherly kiss to the unbandaged part of her forehead, smiling gently as he watches her eyes flutter shut.

Scott settles back into his chair, Kayo's hand still in his. He is unaware that behind him, Virgil has heard every word, and that his younger brother's tears are for him as well.


	7. Cold World

**Seven: Cold World**

There is no doubt whatsoever in Kayo's mind that the members of International Rescue are tough. On the occasions when she herself is not called out to support them, she has waited by the comm and listened to them walk (or swim or fly) through hell and back to save lives. She has been their extra set of eyes, another calm voice above the fray, one of the tethers that anchor them to their lives beyond the pain and terror that is always in the offing when the call goes out.

With waiting, however, comes the inevitable moment when they all come home, and it's always with a strange mix of relief and dread that she watches them heave into view, the blue of their uniforms barely visible underneath mud and blood and soot. After the blood-stained neoprene has been peeled away and the mud washed down the drain, Kayo has seen Scott fall into the chair at his father's desk, reach for the bottle of very old scotch that resides in one of the drawers, and pour himself a double without ice or water. She has watched Alan and Gordon play game after game on the console, battling each other for hours without a word spoken between them. John will literally disappear, keeping his communications to 'audio only' for days.

Virgil seems to be the one who handles their disappointments and setbacks with the greatest amount of ease. Occasionally he'll join Scott in a silent drink, holding out his glass across the desk for Scott to pour and then raising it in a wordless toast to those they couldn't save. He'll let the younger two duke it out on the video screen for a while before shutting it off and throwing them out of the lounge to swim or sweat it out. He'll call John and just let the sounds of the house filter into TB5 for a while, making certain that their space-side extension of the family doesn't feel alone.

Virgil himself, Kayo has noticed over the years, lets glimpses of his own pain out after he's had time to chew on it a while. She's seen the portfolio that he keeps hidden from his grandmother's eyes, full of paintings and sketches of hurricane-ravaged landscapes, rivers running red with blood, cities on fire, and a faceless man with eyes glowing from the depths of a black hooded cloak. She's heard him compose music that sounds like a storm, notes shrieking and wailing up and down the keyboard of the baby grand. Years before she revealed her secret, he played a sinister piece; when she'd asked him what it was, he'd told her it was his theme song for the Hood. Since then, the song has played in the back of her mind every time she's encountered her uncle.

However, there comes a time in the lives of even the strongest tree or the highest mountain when the roots fail and the rocks tumble, usually from repeated stress applied over time. Then, when the moment is right, a strong shake or a high wind will finish the deed, and down it comes. Such are the images that are running through Kayo's mind as she watches the boys- _her brothers_ -come up from the depths one by one. Scott, Alan, Gordon; they stumble past, clotted with gray muck from hair to boots. She's been on the comm for hours, so she's tired too, her head buzzing and her eyes bleary, but these beloved faces wear devastation as well as a layer of grime.

"He's back there," Gordon tosses over his shoulder. "It's bad, Kay."

When Kayo climbs up the ladder and drops through the hatch of Thunderbird Two, the craft is dark and silent. This is highly unusual, as Virgil typically busies himself with post-mission checks, making resupply lists, and ensuring that everything is ready to go at a moment's notice. Today, it's as if TB2 is mourning losses along with her pilot, who is still seated unmoving in the cockpit.

"Hey," she ventures, but he's so still, as if he hasn't heard her. The stillness makes her want to reach out and shake him, say his name, but suddenly she's frozen and her throat closes on the words. For one, two, three heartbeats, she stands there in a cold sweat-until she hears him breathing in the silence of the hangar. Her knees wobble and she has to sit down hard on the diamond plate floor for a long minute, regaining her composure. If he's shattered, she reminds herself, it won't do any good for her to crumble right along with him.

She's never been so glad to hear such ordinary sounds: the shifting of gritty soles against the deckplates; the clank of gear still hanging off him; thick syllables from the man himself. "Mm. Gord?"

Kayo forces herself to her feet, finds a calm center, and holds herself there. "It's me," she says, her voice not sounding quite like her own to her ears. "The guys are upstairs." Now she approaches, keeping her voice level and her hands at her sides, though she wants to touch him just to reassure herself that he is indeed among the living. Silly, she thinks. She's never acted like a silly girl, even around the man she loves more than anything on this earth, but the impulse is there nonetheless. She gives it a hard shove to the back of her brain and demands: _Focus, Kyrano_. "You about done here?"

He nods. "Yep. _Done_. That's a good word for it."

She feels as if she's been pierced by a shard of ice. Things have been bad before, it's just what happens in their line of work, but this...this is flat, dead, _done._ "You tried your best. It's all you can do." Stupid, she thinks, stupid _words_ , that's all they are, and she's sorry she's said them. "I'm gonna go," she says. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I'll let you finish up here."

"No." He turns, and their eyes meet, amber to olive, and suddenly she's moving to hold him against her, his shoulder-mounted scope jabbing into her ribs and his gloves leaving muddy streaks on her shirt. There are no tears from either of them, not yet. Time enough for that later, when the walls start to come down.

Virgil weighs two-twenty-five soaking wet, but right now he's wearing fifty pounds of gear and at least ten of pure dirt, so pulling him up out of his seat is proving a challenge. "Come on," she encourages, tugging his left arm up high enough so she can get underneath and throw it across her shoulders. It's either worrying or a good thing that he lets her do it, but she decides not to dwell on it right now and just focuses on getting him up and mobile. Eventually he's on his feet, moving slow but still moving. She eyes him critically and decides that he's nowhere near surefooted enough to descend the ladder, so she makes an executive decision. "Let's lose the hardware."

His fingers are clumsy, but between the two of them, they get his scope undone and set aside. He presses a hidden latch on his baldric, and it hits the floor in a heap of muddy green; he kicks it for good measure. Kayo raises an eyebrow at this, but she says nothing and instead works at the pressure point that keeps his blues molded to his frame. With a tiny hiss, the seal breaks and the neoprene sags slightly around his wrists, knees, and ankles. Kayo tugs off his gauntlets, tossing them on top of the baldric, then kneels to undo the buckles on his boots.

"Uh, we should scrub. The suit, I mean." Virgil sighs and tries again. "Need to get the dirt off the suit."

Kayo nods; IR's trademark blue suits are treated to resist a myriad of chemicals and can withstand a certain amount of direct heat, but who knows what he's come into contact with today that could compromise the integrity of the suit. To this end, she leads Virgil into the small compartment that can act as a mobile triage unit, an airborne ambulance, or, in a pinch, a living space about the size of a walk-in closet, complete with bathroom and a tankless water heater. The memory of their first time together flits at the edges of her mind, the fold-down bunk recalling that of a disused hurricane shelter, and a night where her newly adult self let Virgil bring her gasping into womanhood.

Since he's just standing there, Kayo reaches up and coaxes a stream of water into the small Plexiglass cubicle that acts as a shower. After making certain that the water is good and hot, she gently pushes Virgil, still in his blues, into the stream. As the water pours over him, Virgil raises his head and shuts his eyes, and his hair plasters itself to his forehead. Kayo finds a stiff brush and begins to scrub the accumulated detritus of a rescue gone bad from the uniform. Soon the suit is its bright self again, and she tosses away the brush. Virgil, for his part, is staring at his hands, watching the water drip from them as if it's the most interesting thing in the world.

Kayo turns her attention to the hidden zipper that begins at the base of his throat and takes it down to the middle of his chest. She helps him pull off the form-fitting sleeves, and then takes the zipper down past his hips. It takes a few uncoordinated moments and a few tugs and pulls, but eventually Virgil is standing full in the spray, free from anything identifying him as part of International Rescue. As soon as the uniform is off, the amber eyes lose their unfocused gaze, and it's as if he sees Kayo for the first time.

"Where did you come from?" he asks over the noise of the water.

She smiles. "Just thought I'd help you out. You, uh, weren't exactly...you know." She gestures vaguely. "Coherent." Her smile disappears, and she reaches out to touch his face. "Rough day."

He nods. "Yeah." A litany of sorrow hangs on that word, but she doesn't press for more.

Instead, Kayo steps back and bends to collect the dripping suit. "You get cleaned up. I'll see you upstairs." However, as she straightens with her armful of sodden blue, he's there, standing in front of her, water sluicing from him in rivulets and puddling on the deck at their feet. He blinks the water out of his eyes and reaches for her hand, pulling her with him as he walks back to the steamed-up cubicle. Kayo lets the suit fall in a heap and follows him into the water, taking his face into her hands and kissing him long and slow. His hands are tugging at the hem of her shirt, peeling the knit fabric from her like a second skin and then moving to untie the drawstring of her cargo pants. She kicks off her shoes, again recalling that long-ago night where her clothes joined his on the floor of the shelter. In seconds flat, they are skin to skin once more, older and wiser but still needing each other just as much.

Virgil hoists her up against the wall, and she wraps herself around him. The water is still pounding down on them, the steel against her back is cold, and there is nothing else in the world except his ragged breath in her ear and his strong arms bearing her up once, twice, over and over against the metal until he gasps and shudders. Their motion stops, and she gracefully untangles herself as he remains pressed against her with his face buried in her neck. He rarely leaves her wanting more, but this time is for him, and she simply folds him into her arms and lets him fall apart.

Yes, she thinks, the members of International Rescue are tough. Except when they're not.


	8. Just Too Funky

AN: Thanks to PreludeInZ, who suggested Scott's reading material.

 **Interlude: Foolish People**

There are several things that count as a milestone in a young girl's life. Menarche, of course, signals her true arrival as a woman, but wearing her first pair of high heels is on the list, as is going to her first dance. Of course there is also the all-important first date, and the penultimate first kiss, to mark the transition from little girl to young lady.

On the day that Tanusha Kyrano turns sixteen years old, she hasn't yet been to a dance or on a date, and she hates wearing uncomfortable shoes. She's been dealing with what Grandma Tracy refers to as 'Aunt Flo' for the last three years, and the boys have learned to give her a wide berth during that time. She wonders if it's partly because _that time of the month_ reminds them that she is indeed a _girl._ She's always kept up with them, and so far she continues to do so-except for that one week a month.

It's a happy coincidence that while Tanusha is home from boarding school for a between-term recess, Scott, now a tall, broad-shouldered Senior Airman of twenty-two, is also home on leave. There are two absent; John, training in low orbit with NASA, and Virgil, cramming for finals in his first semester at Stanford, but Gordon and Alan are beside themselves with excitement. Big brother and big sister are home, and there's going to be _cake_ and _ice cream_ and _no lessons_ while they're here.

Jeff and Kyrano are off-island at the moment, but they make time to call in to wish the birthday girl many happy returns. She blushes as they all sing over the fancy cake Jeff had shipped over (everyone-including Grandma-is thankful for this nicety) and blows out her sixteen candles to cheers and applause. Virgil has sent an oversize sweatshirt that labels her as 'Property of Stanford University Engineering Department' and John has sent a teddy bear wearing a spacesuit. For the birthday toast, a small glass of champagne is poured for the celebrant, where just twelve months earlier she would have joined Gordon and Alan in a glass of sparkling cider. Then it's time for an excellent dinner and way too much cake, and soon the younger two are snoring on the sofa. Scott has excused himself to his room, and Grandma is lying down with a headache after just a little too much champagne.

Tanusha, however, is on a mission, and she slips out of the living room and up the stairs without a sound.

Scott has kept the music low, and he's buried up to his eyebrows in _Catch-22_ when the soft knock sounds on his door. "Yeah," he calls over his shoulder, then turns with his finger in the book as the door opens.

Tanusha is standing barefoot in the doorway, wearing Virgil's sweatshirt and a pair of black capri leggings, her hair pulled back in a messy knot. For some reason, she seems a little shy; a few years before, she'd have flung herself across the room and onto the bed without compunction. Scott smiles inwardly, wondering if perhaps today has reminded her that they're _young ladies_ _and gentlemen_ now.

"Hey, Tawny." (He had never taken to Alan's babyish 'Tin-Tin'.) He lays his book aside, turning back to her with a fond smile. "What's up, birthday girl?"

"I need your help with something." She moves to his pristinely made bed and sinks down with cat-like grace, legs crossed and hands in her lap. Her expression is perhaps a little more serious than someone celebrating their Sweet Sixteen should wear, which is worrying, but he tries to keep it light.

"Of course," he says breezily. "That's what big brothers are for." He wheels his desk chair over to sit directly in front of her, all about problem solving.

She studies the floor for a moment, then looks up and fixes him with a solemn gaze. "Teach me how to kiss."

Scott's face goes blank. "I'm sorry, what?"

She sighs and ducks her head a little, as if steeling herself to plunge into a cold wave. "There's an all-boys academy down the road from my school, and the weekend before the term ended, there was a dance."

This piques Scott's big-brother sense, and he regains some of his color. "Did someone try to put the moves on you at the dance?"

Tanusha shakes her head. "No, I didn't even go." She makes a face. "They're all a bunch of idiots."

Scott snorts. "Yeah, I'm not surprised. Seventeen year old boys can be pretty clueless. Trust me, I was one."

She smiles, and some of the warmth returns to the space between them. "After the dance though, the girls were all talking about the guys, and kissing, and…" She trails off, her cheeks gaining a dusting of pink. "They made fun of me because I'd never kissed anyone."

"What? That's ridiculous." Scott takes her hands in his. "Honey, it's okay that you've never kissed anyone. You'll get to it."

Tanusha shakes her head vigorously. "But I don't _want_ to kiss one of those stupid boys!" She raises her eyes to his, pleading in her voice. "They're gross and they probably don't know anything about kissing either."

Scott raises an eyebrow, feeling like this conversation has taken a turn but he's not entirely sure where. "And what makes you think _I_ know so much about it?"

She gives him a _look_. " _Astrid Farrow_."

Now it's his turn to make a face. "Where did you hear about her?"

Tanusha grins. "John told me."

"Hmm." Scott crosses his arms, mentally consulting his list of ways to commit fratricide. "I see."

"Besides," Tanusha continues, the teasing suddenly gone out of her, "I want it to be with someone I love."

Her words make Scott's heart skip a beat, and he feels a slow flush come over him. She's always been his little sister, has been since she was eight years old and hanging on to Virgil's hand at their mother's funeral, but in the last two years, Scott has found something odd happening when he looks at her. Yes, he's watched her gain height and a few pretty curves, but something intensely protective comes over him when he thinks of her future. He's come to view other boys her age as suspect in their motives, and the thought of letting her go out of his reach unsettles him to the point of restless anger. He's not sure _he's_ good enough for her, but he'll be damned if he stands by and watches her be passed from hand to hand, trying to find someone who _is_.

Maybe there's some sense in what she's proposing, he thinks. A girl's first kiss is momentous, something she recalls forever, if what he remembers his mother telling him is true.

 _Why not?_

Scott draws a deep breath, wondering if this is crossing some sort of line. Of course they're not blood kin, but part of this feels dangerous. If his father-or, more importantly, _hers_ -were to walk in, he has the feeling that they'd both be in a lot of trouble. His own father is formidable, but Kyrano knows a dozen ways to kill a man with his bare hands. Thankfully, both of their fathers are nowhere near the island.

 _It's just a kiss,_ he tells himself, wiping the palms of his hands on his jeans. "Okay. Come here a minute."

She nods and unfolds herself to scoot closer, and he moves from the chair to sit beside her on the bed. "Like this?" she asks.

"A little closer." He moves forward, and she wriggles herself across the bed until their knees are touching. "That's good." His voice is low and quiet, and the space between them gains an intimacy that wasn't there before. "Now, the most important thing to remember is to _relax_."

She nods, letting her forehead touch his. "Right. Relax."

"Good." He draws another long, deep breath. "Focus on your breathing. Slow it down if you can."

Tanusha closes her eyes, matching her breaths to his. When she opens her eyes again, they are soft and warm, and for the first time, Scott feels like he just might lose himself in their olivine depths.

"All right," he breathes. "Here we go." He smiles softly. "Close your eyes."

At first it feels awkward to her, this being so close that you're literally in someone else's face, but then Scott's lips brush hers, ever so gently. The motion sets off a firestorm of sensations in her own lips, and she jerks back a fraction. Scott reaches up to draw her back in, his fingers lightly pressing against her jaw, and this time the kiss is stronger, a longer press, and a sliding, searching motion that makes the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

It seems right to let her hands rise and come to rest on his shoulders. She tilts her head opposite to his, fitting herself to him and straightening her spine, leaning into him as he continues to press into her, both of his hands now on either side of her face. His nose brushes hers the barest inch and still he keeps moving, searching, his mouth sliding against hers. She's beginning to feel dizzy and warm when something wet touches her lips, and she jumps, breaking away from him.

Scott's eyes are stormy blue above hers, and his cheeks have spots of high color in them. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she confesses. "I felt something wet."

He blinks at her a moment, then ducks his head and flushes redder. "Uh, right. That's called, uh, French kissing. You know...tongues and all that."

"Oh." She ponders this for a moment, and yes, now she recalls some of the girls talking about 'frenching.' This had elicited a squeal of scandalized laughter from the rest of the group, followed by an in-depth discussion of pressure and temperature and technique. "Guys like that?"

Scott runs his hands through his hair. "Yeah, some do. Most do."

"Do you?"

He doesn't answer her right away, but instead just sits and looks at her. She's beginning to wonder if she's done something wrong when he finally answers her, his voice strangely distant. "Yeah. I do."

Tanusha nods to herself, then straightens her shoulders and huffs a little exhale. "Okay. I'll be ready this time."

Scott backs up a little. "For what?"

"For the French kissing."

His eyes go wide. "Uh...wait, Tawny, I don't-"

She leans forward, capturing his mouth with hers, and it's blindingly apparent to Scott that she is a very, very quick study. Instantly he is _on fire_ , and of its own volition, his tongue probes hers, teasing and flicking in a way that has her giving a little gasp of amazement. His hands are in her hair, and it tumbles out of its precarious knot to fall down around them.

A warning bell of alarm begins to trill deep within him, and at first the hot ache of desire drowns it out. Then her fingers are at the top button of his shirt, worrying at it until it pops open-

And suddenly, this is wrong. All wrong.

"No," he mutters, pushing away from her. " _No._ Stop it, Tawny." That's not fair, he thinks; she's not the one to blame for his sudden rush of desire. _He's_ the one who wants her to keep unbuttoning his shirt. _He's_ the one who wants to keep going until they're in his bed, teaching and learning much, much more than just a simple kiss.

 _She's only sixteen_. His Air Force career would be over. Statutory rape. A family torn apart. Kyrano taking her away, his father losing a friend, his brothers-

"Scott-" She's on her feet, eyes filling with tears of hurt and confusion. "Did I do something wrong?"

He gets up and walks to the door, unable to look at her. _You don't know what you've done._ "No. You'd better get to bed. I'm going for a swim."

"Can I come with-"

" _No_. Get to bed." He pauses, turns to look at her, tries to gentle his voice. "Good night, honey. Happy Birthday."

When Gordon comes down for his morning laps at five, Scott is still sitting by the pool in his trunks, dry and reeking of chlorine. Gordon stops and cocks his head at his brother, who is sitting with elbows on knees, staring at where the sun is just about to pierce the horizon. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah."

However, as Gordon watches his big brother get up and walk back into the house, he has the distinct feeling he's just been lied to.


	9. Interlude: Foolish People

AN: Thanks to PreludeInZ, who suggested Scott's reading material.

 **Interlude: Foolish People**

There are several things that count as a milestone in a young girl's life. Menarche, of course, signals her true arrival as a woman, but wearing her first pair of high heels is on the list, as is going to her first dance. Of course there is also the all-important first date, and the penultimate first kiss, to mark the transition from little girl to young lady.

On the day that Tanusha Kyrano turns sixteen years old, she hasn't yet been to a dance or on a date, and she hates wearing uncomfortable shoes. She's been dealing with what Grandma Tracy refers to as 'Aunt Flo' for the last three years, and the boys have learned to give her a wide berth during that time. She wonders if it's partly because _that time of the month_ reminds them that she is indeed a _girl._ She's always kept up with them, and so far she continues to do so-except for that one week a month.

It's a happy coincidence that while Tanusha is home from boarding school for a between-term recess, Scott, now a tall, broad-shouldered Senior Airman of twenty-two, is also home on leave. There are two absent; John, training in low orbit with NASA, and Virgil, cramming for finals in his first semester at Stanford, but Gordon and Alan are beside themselves with excitement. Big brother and big sister are home, and there's going to be _cake_ and _ice cream_ and _no lessons_ while they're here.

Jeff and Kyrano are off-island at the moment, but they make time to call in to wish the birthday girl many happy returns. She blushes as they all sing over the fancy cake Jeff had shipped over (everyone-including Grandma-is thankful for this nicety) and blows out her sixteen candles to cheers and applause. Virgil has sent an oversize sweatshirt that labels her as 'Property of Stanford University Engineering Department' and John has sent a teddy bear wearing a spacesuit. For the birthday toast, a small glass of champagne is poured for the celebrant, where just twelve months earlier she would have joined Gordon and Alan in a glass of sparkling cider. Then it's time for an excellent dinner and way too much cake, and soon the younger two are snoring on the sofa. Scott has excused himself to his room, and Grandma is lying down with a headache after just a little too much champagne.

Tanusha, however, is on a mission, and she slips out of the living room and up the stairs without a sound.

Scott has kept the music low, and he's buried up to his eyebrows in _Catch-22_ when the soft knock sounds on his door. "Yeah," he calls over his shoulder, then turns with his finger in the book as the door opens.

Tanusha is standing barefoot in the doorway, wearing Virgil's sweatshirt and a pair of black capri leggings, her hair pulled back in a messy knot. For some reason, she seems a little shy; a few years before, she'd have flung herself across the room and onto the bed without compunction. Scott smiles inwardly, wondering if perhaps today has reminded her that they're _young ladies_ _and gentlemen_ now.

"Hey, Tawny." (He had never taken to Alan's babyish 'Tin-Tin'.) He lays his book aside, turning back to her with a fond smile. "What's up, birthday girl?"

"I need your help with something." She moves to his pristinely made bed and sinks down with cat-like grace, legs crossed and hands in her lap. Her expression is perhaps a little more serious than someone celebrating their Sweet Sixteen should wear, which is worrying, but he tries to keep it light.

"Of course," he says breezily. "That's what big brothers are for." He wheels his desk chair over to sit directly in front of her, all about problem solving.

She studies the floor for a moment, then looks up and fixes him with a solemn gaze. "Teach me how to kiss."

Scott's face goes blank. "I'm sorry, what?"

She sighs and ducks her head a little, as if steeling herself to plunge into a cold wave. "There's an all-boys academy down the road from my school, and the weekend before the term ended, there was a dance."

This piques Scott's big-brother sense, and he regains some of his color. "Did someone try to put the moves on you at the dance?"

Tanusha shakes her head. "No, I didn't even go." She makes a face. "They're all a bunch of idiots."

Scott snorts. "Yeah, I'm not surprised. Seventeen year old boys can be pretty clueless. Trust me, I was one."

She smiles, and some of the warmth returns to the space between them. "After the dance though, the girls were all talking about the guys, and kissing, and…" She trails off, her cheeks gaining a dusting of pink. "They made fun of me because I'd never kissed anyone."

"What? That's ridiculous." Scott takes his hands in hers. "Honey, it's okay that you've never kissed anyone. You'll get to it."

Tanusha shakes her head vigorously. "But I don't _want_ to kiss one of those stupid boys!" She raises her eyes to his, pleading in her voice. "They're gross and they probably don't know anything about kissing either."

Scott raises an eyebrow, feeling like this conversation has taken a turn but he's not entirely sure where. "And what makes you think I know so much about it?"

She gives him a _look_. " _Astrid Farrow_."

Now it's his turn to make a face. "Where did you hear about her?"

Tanusha grins. "John told me."

"Hmm." Scott crosses his arms, mentally consulting his list of ways to commit fratricide. "I see."

"Besides," Tanusha continues, the teasing suddenly gone out of her, "I want it to be with someone I love."

Her words make Scott's heart skip a beat, and he feels a slow flush come over him. She's always been his little sister, has been since she was eight years old and hanging on to Virgil's hand at their mother's funeral, but in the last two years, Scott has found something odd happening when he looks at her. Yes, he's watched her gain height and a few pretty curves, but something intensely protective comes over him when he thinks of her future. He's come to view other boys her age as suspect in their motives, and the thought of letting her go out of his reach unsettles him to the point of restless anger. He's not sure _he's_ good enough for her, but he'll be damned if he stands by and watches her be passed from hand to hand, trying to find someone who _is_.

Maybe there's some sense in what she's proposing, he thinks. A girl's first kiss is momentous, something she recalls forever, if what he remembers his mother telling him is true.

 _Why not?_

Scott draws a deep breath, wondering if this is crossing some sort of line. Of course they're not blood kin, but part of this feels dangerous. If his father-or, more importantly, _hers_ -were to walk in, he has the feeling that they'd both be in a lot of trouble. His own father is formidable, but Kyrano knows a dozen ways to kill a man with his bare hands. Thankfully, both of their fathers are nowhere near the island.

 _It's just a kiss,_ he tells himself, wiping the palms of his hands on his jeans. "Okay. Come here a minute."

She nods and unfolds herself to scoot closer, and he moves from the chair to sit beside her on the bed. "Like this?" she asks.

"A little closer." He moves forward, and she wriggles herself across the bed until their knees are touching. "That's good." His voice is low and quiet, and the space between them gains an intimacy that wasn't there before. "Now, the most important thing to remember is to _relax_."

She nods, letting her forehead touch his. "Right. Relax."

"Good." He draws another long, deep breath. "Focus on your breathing. Slow it down if you can."

Tanusha closes her eyes, matching her breaths to his. When she opens her eyes again, they are soft and warm, and for the first time, Scott feels like he just might lose himself in their olivine depths.

"All right," he breathes. "Here we go." He smiles softly. "Close your eyes."

At first it feels awkward to her, this being so close that you're literally in someone else's face, but then Scott's lips brush hers, ever so gently. The motion sets off a firestorm of sensations in her own lips, and she jerks back a fraction. Scott reaches up to draw her back in, his fingers lightly pressing against her jaw, and this time the kiss is stronger, a longer press, and a sliding, searching motion that makes the hair stand upon the back of her neck.

It seems right to let her hands rise and come to rest on his shoulders. She tilts her head opposite to his, fitting herself to him and straightening her spine, leaning into him as he continues to press into her, both of his hands now on either side of her face. His nose brushes hers the barest inch and still he keeps moving, searching, his mouth sliding against hers. She's beginning to feel dizzy and warm when something wet touches her lips, and she jumps, breaking away from him.

Scott's eyes are stormy blue above hers, and his cheeks have spots of high color in them. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," she confesses. "I felt something wet."

He blinks at her a moment, then ducks his head and flushes redder. "Uh, right. That's called, uh, French kissing. You know...tongues and all that."

"Oh." She ponders this for a moment, and yes, now she recalls some of the girls talking about 'frenching.' This had elicited a squeal of scandalized laughter from the rest of the group, followed by an in-depth discussion of pressure and temperature and technique. "Guys like that?"

Scott runs his hands through his hair. "Yeah, some do. Most do."

"Do you?"

He doesn't answer her right away, but instead just sits and looks at her. She's beginning to wonder if she's done something wrong when he finally answers her, his voice strangely distant. "Yeah. I do."

Tanusha nods to herself, then straightens her shoulders and huffs a little exhale. "Okay. I'll be ready this time."

Scott backs up a little. "For what?"

"For the French kissing."

His eyes go wide. "Uh...wait, Tawny, I don't-"

She leans forward, capturing his mouth with hers, and it's blindingly apparent to Scott that she is a very, very quick study. Instantly he is _on fire_ , and of its own volition, his tongue probes hers, teasing and flicking in a way that has her giving a little gasp of amazement. His hands are in her hair, and it tumbles out of its precarious knot to fall down around them.

A warning bell of alarm begins to trill deep within him, and at first the hot ache of desire drowns it out. Then her fingers are at the top button of his shirt, worrying at it until it pops open-

And suddenly, this is wrong. All wrong.

"No," he mutters, pushing away from her. " _No._ Stop it, Tawny." That's not fair, he thinks; she's not the one more than ready to let her continue unbuttoning his shirt. She's not the one who would give anything to let her keep going until they were in his bed, teaching and learning much, much more than just a simple kiss.

She's only sixteen. His Air Force career would be over. Statutory rape. A family torn apart. Kyrano taking her away, his father losing a friend, his brothers-

"Scott-" She's on her feet, eyes filling with tears of hurt and confusion. "Did I do something wrong?"

He gets up and walks to the door, unable to look at her. _You don't know what you've done._ "No. You'd better get to bed. I'm going for a swim."

"Can I-"

 _Oh, God_. "No. Get to bed." He pauses, turns to look at her, tries to gentle his voice. "Good night, honey. Happy Birthday."

Scott is still sitting by the pool in his trunks, dry and reeking of chlorine, when Gordon comes down for his morning laps at five. Gordon stops and cocks a head at his brother, who is sitting with elbows on knees, staring at where the sun is just about to pierce the horizon. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah."

However, as Gordon watches his big brother get up and walk back into the house, he has the distinct feeling he's just been lied to.


	10. Heaven Help Him When He Falls

**AN: In which Kayo finds her purpose, and Virgil (temporarily) loses his.**

 **Ten: Heaven Help Him When He Falls**

"Sir-Kyrano-with all due respect, sir, I'm not sure if this is such a good idea."

Jeff Tracy has been missing for six months. No one, not even his trusted bodyguard, knows where he is. They know where his experimental craft splashed down into the ocean, but so far the man himself-alive or dead-has not turned up. The strain of searching for any sign of him is taking a heavy toll on his family, and its latest manifestation is how Scott lapses into a boy speaking to his father's bodyguard rather than the head of the family talking to an associate.

The bad idea in question is lurking in the background, trying to disappear and yet hear the conversation-a tricky proposal at best. After a few moments, she gives up and plops herself on the sofa in full view, fuming as both of the authority figures in her life talk about her like she's not in the room.

Her father's translucent blue form is calm, and he keeps his voice level, reasonable. "And I'm telling you that she's perfectly capable, Scott. Your father always intended for her to handle more of my duties with you boys as time went on. We're just moving up the timeline so I can devote my energies to looking for your father." Kyrano glances over Scott's shoulder to where his simmering daughter sprawls. "Tanusha, you know what I expect of you. It's time to step it up."

The young woman gets to her feet. "Yessir. I'll do my best."

Her father smiles proudly. "I know you will, sweetheart. I'm here if you need me."

And with that, nineteen-year-old Tanusha-or Kayo, as she likes to be called these days-assumes five charges to look after and keep out of trouble, never mind that three of them are older than she is. However, the first order of business, and the situation Scott was having the mild argument with Kyrano about, has the potential to be Kayo's baptism by fire.

The Tracy family owns their own private island in the South Pacific, but they can also make use of a dozen residences around the globe. The one seeing the most use of late is The Aerie, a large and very private home nestled into the red rocks just outside of Phoenix, Arizona. Glass, native stone, tile, and the timeless jet-age design of the last century make up a place that many in the know want to see and be seen at. The three pools are turquoise oases, and there is even a secluded grotto. Unfortunately, since Lucille Tracy's untimely death, the grotto has sat empty, filled only with echoes of the two lovers who delighted in each other there.

Until recently.

If there's one thing that Tracys know how to do, it's spend money. Gobs of it. Granted, their diverse industries and holdings make their massive fortune for them, as well as enable them to extend a philanthropic hand to many, but as Jeff Tracy would be the first to say, money is made to be spent.

If there's another thing that Tracys know how to do, it's play. Gordon is known from Waikiki to Sydney on his quests for the best surf. Scott keeps a stable of insanely fast cars at a race track in rural England. John has a reading room named for him at the Library of Congress. The family celebrated Alan's 13th birthday with a private party at Disneyland's Club 33 and then turned his friends loose on the park.

Virgil, however, is twenty-one years old, newly graduated from Stanford, and he has decided that it's time to party, Tracy-style.

What started as a perfectly respectable graduation party at The Aerie has purportedly extended to a three-day bacchanalian fete. According to the TI Accounts Payable department, the services of a high-end catering company have been solicited several times, and according to the neighbors, there have been rather a lot of young people arriving at all hours of the day and night. The waste management company is expressing concern at the volume of glass bottles in the recycling bin. The pool guy has called twice complaining about various non-water substances clogging up the filters in the grotto.

In short: This is a problem, and one that Scott and Kayo are on their way right now to The Aerie to resolve.

As Tracy-One touches down at Phoenix Sky Harbor, Kayo is going over her contingency plan for arriving at the house. Scott is seated across from her, his face stony with disapproval.

"Out of all of us," he says into the silence, "Virgil's the last person I would have expected to carry on like this."

Kayo says nothing, but raises an eyebrow. She's seen her father do this to Jeff, when Kyrano wants to encourage further speech without interrupting a train of thought.

"He's solid. He's dependable. That's why he's in charge of Thunderbird Two; it has the widest scope and greatest flexibility. It needs someone who is thorough and intelligent and steady." He shakes his head and glances out the window at the desert sunset. "Now I'm wondering if Dad made a mistake."

Again, Kayo remains silent. It's not her place to say anything. It's her place to clear the house of hangers-on, find Virgil, and get the three of them back to the island in one piece. Failing that, her job is to clear the house, find Virgil, get him medical treatment if necessary for the aftereffects of a drunken bash, and then get them all back to the island. Her job is also to look out for threats to Scott while he's focused on Virgil.

Despite her efforts not to think about it, a slow flush creeps over her as she recalls the night, almost a year hence, when Virgil made good on his promise to take her virginity. She's revisited that night so many times in the months since, replaying his groans and sighs and the feeling of his hands and mouth on her body until she thinks she might go crazy.

She wonders, as they taxi to the hangar, if he's remembered that night at all during the last three days.

When they leave the airport, Scott is driving, avoiding a chauffeur in order to begin mitigating the amount of gossip that will inevitably ensue. Kayo rides shotgun, both literally and figuratively, though all she's armed with right now is a Taser. The black SUV with tinted windows is large enough to secure a prone passenger in the back seat. They've packed several tarps to cover the seats and a box of trash bags, as well as several changes of clothes for Virgil, a twelve-pack of ginger ale, and a box of saltines. They also have the hospital on alert to receive victims of self-induced alcohol poisoning if necessary.

Of course, this is providing that everyone's still alive. Kayo knows that it's this thought, more than the expense and embarrassment of having a brother who's suddenly decided to try his hand at being a playboy, that turns Scott's eyes to dark pools of storm.

It's in this taut silence that Scott finally decides to speak. "I know about you and Virgil," he grits, apropos of nothing. "That night in the garden shed."

She blinks, but doesn't move. "Did he tell you?"

He shrugs. "More or less."

The images of Virgil's bruised face and Scott's bandaged knuckles flash into Kayo's mind. "I see."

Scott ventures a glance at her. "I'm sorry for how he treated you."

This time, Kayo turns her head and stares at the side of Scott's face in incredulity. "How he _treated_ me?" she echoes. "Scott, he didn't do anything to me that I didn't encourage."

"That's what he _told_ me."

"And you didn't believe him?"

Scott makes a face. "How could I? You're not that kind of girl, Kay."

Her calm remains, but her words gain an icy edge. "Listen, we're going to have a problem if you don't stop treating me like your kid sister."

His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. "When it comes to certain things, you'll always be my kid sister."

"You heard my father. You heard what he expects me to do." Kayo taps the comm strapped to her arm, pulling up the schematics of the house. "I've got a job to do, and I'm going to do it. Do us both a favor and stay out of my way."

They pull into the driveway, and Kayo is out of the car before Scott can shut it off. Not bothering to knock, she opens the front door and strides through the foyer into the house proper.

The place is, in a word, thrashed. Someone has decorated the plush living room carpet with a reeking yellow puddle. Three brassieres and a pair of bright pink thong underwear dangle from the light fixture hanging over the room. The antique Noguchi coffee table is covered in beer and champagne bottles, and plates and glasses are stacked on the lid of the baby grand piano.

Behind Kayo, Scott lets out a sharp curse that echoes off the marble tiles of the entry. The room is deserted, and together they stand and survey the destruction in every corner.

"I'm going to murder him," Scott says through clenched teeth.

Kayo pulls up a list of phone numbers on her wrist comm, then flicks her fingers to send it to Scott's phone. "Call a cleaning company and get them out here. I'm going to go find Virgil."

Before Scott can protest, Kayo is taking the stairs two at a time up to the bedroom level, and she crosses through a loft draped with half a dozen snoring bodies. She smacks her palm against the wall, eliciting a crack of sound that jolts everyone awake.

"Party's over," she snarls. "If you can't drive, wait downstairs; we'll call taxis. Is everyone able to walk?" One by one, the partygoers clamber to their feet and shamble downstairs past her, and Kayo continues to the first door next to the loft. She bangs a fist on the wood, then opens the door, covering her nose against the smell of booze and hashish. The residents of this room are a little slower to awaken, but in a few seconds, Kayo has shaken everyone into some coherent state, and they too are on their way downstairs.

Next door is the master suite, and Kayo is not surprised when no one answers her knock. She pushes the door open to reveal what used to be Jeff and Lucille Tracy's retreat, but is now a dark den smelling of spilt wine and unwashed bodies. In the very center of the room sits an antique four-poster bed, its sheets askew and puddling on the floor. In the very center of the bed lies Virgil Grissom Tracy, naked as the day he was born. He is flanked by two girls-twins, by the looks of them-curled around him like a pair of naked kittens. Judging by their breathing, all three are peacefully, if heavily asleep, and something unknots in Kayo as she listens to the air going in and out of Virgil's throat.

Resisting the urge to unholster her stun gun and fire it at Virgil's finely sculpted rear end, Kayo maneuvers around piles of discarded clothing and empty champagne bottles to reach the side of the bed. She looks down at the three bedmates for a moment, then picks up a crystal glass from the bedside table and chucks it into the room's fireplace. The breaking glass makes a satisfying crash, and all three of the bed's occupants sit bolt upright.

"What was-" Virgil begins, but the words die away as he sees Kayo glowering at him. "Oh, _man_ ," he groans.

"You're lucky I found you first," she growls. "Get some clothes on and get these girls out of here before Scott comes upstairs."

"What time is it?" Virgil asks, rubbing his eyes. "Come on ladies, fun's over. Gotta go now."

One of the girls whines, "Oh, Virgie, do we have to?" She clings to him, and they share a sloppy kiss.

"Yeah," the other chimes, "we were having so much fun." She too exchanges a wet kiss with Virgil, but he pushes her to arm's length.

"I know, baby, I know. I had a great time. Did you have a great time? Yeah, I think everybody did. Thanks for coming." He rambles as Kayo ushers them away from the bed, and waves as they retrieve their clothes.

"'Bye, Virgie," they chorus, only halfway dressed. Kayo gives them one last shove, and closes the door behind them.

"Wow." Virgil flops back down on the bed. "Now _that_ was a good party." He grins as Kayo comes into view above him. "Hey, there, lil' sis. What's up, buttercup?"

Kayo rolls her eyes. "You, in five seconds." She throws some clothes at him. "Put these on. Scott's waiting for us downstairs."

"Ah, Scooter." Virgil sits up, blinking owlishly. "When we were kids, Mom took us to a petting zoo for his birthday. D'ya know that a goat tried to eat his jacket 'cause he'd stashed the little cup of oats in his pocket? Hasn't liked parties since."

Since he's not tracking at the moment, Kayo picks up a tee shirt and tugs it over Virgil's head. "You told me that once. Here."

She holds out a pair of boxers, but Virgil scoffs, threading his arms through the sleeves of the tee. "I've gone commando since we got the 'Birds."

 _Brass buttons, blue denim, smell of cedar, shifting shadows-_ "Uh huh."

He tugs on the pair of jeans she's holding out. "I'm serious, you try stuffing yourself into one of those blue monkey suit with your skivvies in a bunch. Chafes like crazy."

"Mmhmm. Let's go, nature boy."

For someone who has dosed himself with what looks to be an epic amount of alcohol, Virgil is fairly steady on his feet. Kayo walks in front of him as they descend the staircase, prepared to break his fall if it happens. They gain the entryway floor without incident, and Virgil stops short at the sight of the devastation in the living room.

" _Wow_ ," he breathes. "Guess things got a little out of hand."

Kayo whirls to face him. "Listen to me, you big dumb ox," she snarls, her voice low. "Just this once I'm gonna say this as your sister, not your bodyguard." Kayo steps up close enough that she can smell the wine on his breath. "This is the dumbest thing you've ever done, and that's an achievement because _you don't do dumb things._ You actually have a brain inside that thick skull of yours, if you haven't managed to pickle it."

Virgil waves a hand at her. "Come on, Kay. Scotty's gonna read me the riot act anyway. I don't need it from you, too."

Her olive-green eyes flash. "Were either of your little 'friends' virgins?"

He frowns. "Uh, it...didn't come up in the conversation."

"I'll just bet it didn't." She grabs his hand and goes to lead him across the foyer, and Scott opens the front door, clearly on the tail end of his conversation with the cleaners.

"Right. Yes, just send the invoice-Tracy. T-R-A-C-Y, that's right. And again, my apologies. Thanks." He stuffs the phone in his pocket, then turns to see Virgil and Kayo. For a moment, Scott's expression is unreadable.

"Hey," says Virgil.

The seconds tick by as Scott just stands and looks at his brother. Outside, thunder rumbles over the Valley in the gathering twilight. "You okay?"

Virgil nods, lowering his gaze to the floor.

"Then let's go home." Scott turns on his heel and leaves the house without another word.

The yelling doesn't start until Tracy-One is at altitude and heading back to the island.

"What were you thinking?" Scott snarls. "No, never mind. It's obvious that you weren't thinking at all."

Kayo is seated equidistant from both brothers, ready to jump in between if someone decides to go beyond yelling. Virgil is sweating, and has already thrown up once during takeoff. Kayo shoots a glance at Scott, but doesn't step in-yet.

"I said I was-ugh, I said I was sorry," Virgil repeats, grabbing another trash bag from the box at his side. "Like I said, it just got out of hand."

Scott rolls his eyes. "Out of hand? Did you know that in seventy-two hours, fifty college kids managed to drink eight cases of beer, three cases of champagne, and run up a twenty-grand tab at the local catering company? _Out of hand_ is _not_ having orgies in the grotto and puking on the living room carpet. That's an unholy _disaster_."

The word 'puke' might have been a command, because right on cue, Virgil sticks his head in the trash bag and lets fly. Kayo shudders, but the distressing noise doesn't faze Scott.

"Hey, Virg," he sneers, "wanna tell me again what _a good time_ you had?"

This is answered by yet more retching. After the spasm passes, Virgil hawks and spits into the bag, then ties it up and hands it to Kayo. Holding the bag like it's radioactive, Kayo gets up and drops it in the bathroom waste bin, then washes her hands and goes back to the main cabin. As she enters the cabin, she notices that Virgil already has another bag ready to go, and he's looking pale.

"I swear, Virgil," Scott is saying when she resumes her seat. "I just don't get-"

" _Scott,_ " Kayo breaks in, then turns to their increasingly ill-looking third member. "You okay, Virg?" she asks, frowning.

"I don't think so," Virgil croaks, then grabs up his latest bag and pukes again. After a moment, he sits up slowly, blinking like the cabin is too bright. "Whoa. M'seein' stars. Thish'not good."

Scott grabs the barf bag and runs it back to the lavatory. "Kayo," he snaps over his shoulder, but she is already unbuckled and on her way forward to speak with Jack Phillips, the long-time pilot of Tracy-One.

At the opposite end of the plane, Scott has disposed of his grisly parcel and is hurrying back to sit next to Virgil. "We're going back to Phoenix. You need a hospital."

"F A B, Shhunderbird One," Virgil slurs, and then passes out in Scott's arms.

A few hours later, Kayo is seated next to Virgil's bedside at Phoenix Memorial Hospital, counting the times his chest rises and falls, counting the drops of fluids dripping into his veins, willing him to keep breathing with each drop. She leans over to smooth his dark hair where it has flopped across his forehead, sifting it through her fingers. At her touch, his eyes open to amber slits, and a smile creeps across his face.

"Hey, sweetheart," he grates. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Despite her new status as his bodyguard and keeper, Kayo finds that she has to blink away tears. "Taking care of your sorry butt," she volleys back. "How ya feeling, champ?"

Virgil sighs. "How do I look?"

She winces. "Ouch."

"That bad, huh?"

"You might say that."

The door behind her opens, and Scott enters the room, looking tired. Kayo gets up from her chair and Scott slides into it. "Hey there," he begins, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "Decided to stick around, huh?"

Virgil snorts weakly. "M'doin it for my 'Bird, not you," he quips.

Scott chuckles. "Oh, I see how it is. Won't stick around for your big brother, but that big green machine has your heart." He clasps Virgil's hand with his. "I called the island, everyone's just glad to hear you're on the mend."

The younger Tracy's face falls. "Scotty, I-I'm sorry about Aerie."

"We'll talk about that later," Scott reassures him, and Kayo moves to stand near the window, content just to listen to their voices if not their words.

Dawn is beginning to spill across the desert sky when Kayo stirs in her chair beside Virgil's bed. Scott is sprawled on the opposite bed, snoring gently, and she rises to tug the blankets up around his shoulders. He mutters something in his sleep and rolls over, and Kayo turns back to Virgil.

The amber eyes are locked on the elder Tracy's sleeping face, and he sighs. "He was so angry at me. I'm such an idiot."

Kayo shrugs. "He was scared."

Virgil frowns. "Scared? Of what?"

"I'm gonna chalk that up to a pickled brain." She taps his forehead. "He was scared of losing you, Virg. He was prepared to come in and find you drunk enough to be dead-which, by the way, almost happened."

Another sigh. "You know, I _do_ know all of this. I'm a trained first responder, I know what alcohol poisoning looks like."

"Then you don't have an excuse."

"No, I really don't." He cracks a sheepish grin. "You know the saying, 'it seemed like a good idea at the time'"?

Kayo smirks. "That usually means it's not."

"Right. This was one of those. Stupid, I know, but I just...wanted not to hurt for a while. And what do you know, it worked." His eyes grow bright with tears. "For a little while, anyway."

She wipes away the tears that have started to trickle down the side of his face. "You don't have to do this alone, you know. We're all hurting about your Dad."

Virgil shakes his head. "I'm not supposed to hurt, you know? I'm supposed to be the rock, the steady one. Rocks don't break."

"Okay, demolition man, you know that's not true." Kayo lays a hand on his stubble-smudged jaw. "They can take a lot of punishment, but too much pressure for too long-or a hit just in the right spot-and they shatter." Now her own tears are falling, but she doesn't care. "Splitting is okay. Even chipping now and then." She leans forward to kiss his forehead. "Just no shattering, okay?"

Hours later, Scott wakes up to find Kayo laying next to Virgil, her arms around him. They are both sound asleep.


	11. Tell Me To Stop

**Eleven: Tell Me To Stop**

It's half past ten on a June evening in Beverly Hills, California, when a bright green Lamborghini bearing the license plate TRACY2 pulls into the circular drive of a building styled in adobe with a red tile roof. There is no sign on the building, but a young man in a black polo shirt and chinos runs forward from a discreet guard shack to meet the car. He waits until the driver has popped the gull-wing door, then pulls it open and stands back as an older man in a crisply tailored suit steps through a black wrought iron gate and into the drive.

The man in the suit is the maitre d' of this very exclusive establishment, and he proffers his hand to the passenger who is unfolding his muscular frame from the car. "Good evening, Mr. Tracy."

"Good evening, Bernard." The dark-haired young man shakes Bernard's hand briefly, then tosses the Lambo's keys to the valet. When the car is out of sight, Bernard and his guest walk toward the building along a lighted garden path. When they reach the gate, Bernard opens it with a wave of his hand against a sensor, and a few more steps brings them to the door of the building proper. Beside the door stands a large man with skin the color of dark chocolate, dressed in clothes that make him seem like a patch of darkness that happens to be breathing.

Out of habit, the maitre d' glances up at the hulking, tattooed bouncer. The door sentinel gives the young billionaire a once-over, and then dips his chin in a curt nod. Virgil Tracy is well-known at the establishment, though the maitre d' thinks it's been a while since he's visited. Generous tips are pressed into the hands of both Bernard and the column of muscle guarding the door; both are received with gracious nods. Bernard lays his hand on the palm-print lock and ushers his guest inside.

The hallway of the club is thumping with a heavy bassline, but the rich carpeting soaks up most of the other ambient noise. The lighting is low, except where it is interrupted by lights hanging over framed portraits of some of the club's more notable employees. The maitre d' leads his guest down the hallway without comment; he knows his job well, and the guests aren't here for conversation.

The young man following him is wearing a pair of expensive frames fitted with smoked lenses that obscure his features from a casual glance. The rest of the young man's attire reflects a similar desire to fly below the radar; dark jeans, motorcycle boots, black t-shirt under a black leather jacket. Between the darkness of the seating area and the strobing lights, he will all but disappear.

The door ahead is covered in tufted blood-red leather, outlined with brass nailheads. There is a small, ornately filigreed panel set at eye level in the door; Bernard opens it and steps aside. The young man tips his glasses down onto his nose, revealing mocha-colored irises.

"See something you like, Mr. Tracy?"

The young man looks through the one-way glass a moment more before shaking his head. "Not at the moment," he concedes. "Maybe in a little while."

"Of course." Bernard steps back up to the door and fastens the cover over the window. "Would you be so good as to show me your key?"

Virgil digs in his jeans pocket and produces a silver fob shaped like a hamsa, set with a tiny cabochon ruby as the eye that pierces the palm. Bernard aims a small penlight at the hamsa, and the ruby lights up in response. The door clicks, and Bernard grasps the knob. "I hope you enjoy your visit this evening."

Virgil nods and replaces the fob in his pocket, then pushes his glasses back up onto his nose. "Thank you, Bernard. I plan to."

The door swings open, allowing light and noise to spill into the corridor. As he passes, the young man sees Bernard tip his head to murmur into the microphone on his shoulder, announcing to the security staff that Virgil Tracy has arrived in the building.

As is hinted by the deep thrum of sound in the hallway, the club is vibrating with a beat that Virgil can feel in his sternum. Another staffer, this one in a white shirt that glows brilliant violet under the black lights, moves ahead of Virgil and directs him to a table tucked into a velvet-shrouded nook. Another generous tip is immediately given and graciously received, then the staffer melts into the flickering mishmash of light and dark. The moment Virgil sits down, the table before him lights up with a holographic display of the various libations on offer. Virgil swipes through them, selecting a bourbon on the rocks, and the display fades. Not more than two minutes later, the drink is delivered by a second staffer, this one a young woman in a crisp tuxedo shirt and a short black skirt over black stockings. She sets the drink at his elbow, and then pauses to receive his tip. She gives a nod of thanks and is about to leave when Virgil tugs at the hem of her skirt. She turns back, one eyebrow raised.

Conversation is impossible over the music, so Virgil taps another command into the table, and a sheet of soundproof glass slides over the entrance of the cubicle. "Is Shadow here tonight?"

The young woman folds her tray under her arm and raises her wrist display to scroll through the list of names. "Yes, Mr. Tracy. She's with a private party at the moment, but she doesn't have any other appointments for this evening. Shall I ask l Bernard to send her over when she's free?"

"If you would, please." He reaches into his jacket pocket and hands the waitress an envelope that bears his monogrammed seal on the reverse. "And ask him to give her this."

The waitress gives a nod, and Virgil retracts the glass. The girl disappears, leaving Virgil to sit back and sip his drink, scanning the room from behind his obscuring lenses.

Except, if anyone were able to see through those lenses, they would discover that they are not the sunglasses they appear to be. To Virgil, the room bears lighted displays that seem to hang in the air, but are in reality a heads-up display projected onto the inside surface of the smoked glass. He's already tucked the invisible transmitter into his left ear before the valet came to open the door of the Lamborghini, and now the earpiece gives a chirp, letting him know it is now linked up with the display.

"Virgil, come in."

It might be the bourbon, but Virgil relaxes just a fraction at hearing the familiar tones of his second-oldest brother. "I'm here," he mutters, knowing the transmitter in his ear picks up the vibrations of his voice.

"Any sign of Kayo?"

"Not yet. She's busy."

"Hmm." The HUD flickers; markers pointing out the exits change to informational targets encircling the heads of whoever Virgil is looking at. "If she's not with you in five minutes, you may have to go look for her," John continues. "Lady Penelope's instructions were to get the message to Kayo and leave the club as soon as possible."

"Is Kayo supposed to leave with me?"

"Negative. You're just the messenger. Lady P is handling extraction."

"FAB," Virgil murmurs, taking another drink from the sweating glass.

Luckily for Virgil, Kayo appears with a minute to spare, though he has to sneak a surreptitious second glance to confirm that it is indeed her. Her skin is still that perfect shade of tawny gold, though it's dusted with luminous powder that makes her shimmer in the light. Her hair is weaved, and drips down her back in waves of color that move from deep indigo through magenta and shocking pink to bright orange-gold. Her eyes are sky blue instead of their usual olive green, and her lips are tinted a deep raspberry hue. The man at her side, a slightly smaller and paler version of the door guard, is peeled-egg bald, and his arms are both corded with muscle and covered with tattoos. Virgil waits until they have entered the cubicle, and keys the door shut against the pounding surf of sound.

"Evenin'," says the man with a nod. "Good to see you again, Virgil. Been a while."

Virgil exchanges a handshake and a fistbump with the man. "Same here, Nico. How's life treating you?"

"Man, I am the luckiest man alive," Nico quips. He turns to take the hand of the woman at his side. She steps forward, maneuvering into a slow turn so Virgil can take in every inch of her, from her stiletto heels to the black dress clinging to her from thigh to wrist. The turn reveals that the back of her dress plunges nearly to the cleft of her beautifully toned rear end, giving Virgil the strong suspicion that the dress is her only garment.

He gives a mental sigh. Kayo's been in the room thirty seconds, and he's already getting a boner, despite the danger she's in. He's going to have to have a word with Penny about these _favours_ she keeps asking of him.

Oblivious to Virgil's growing consternation, Nico releases Kayo's hand as she glides over to stand in front of Virgil. "May I present Shadow," says Nico, gesturing to their lovely third party. "She's a very popular girl around here."

"I can see why," Virgil says, his tone neutral. "Good evening, Shadow."

She inclines her head, letting the fiery locks tumble forward before flicking them back over her shoulder. "Good evening, Mr. Tracy."

"It's been a while since your last visit, but the rules haven't changed." Nico takes a step forward, placing himself between Virgil and Kayo. "Rule number one: _She_ will do the touching. Rule two: Your hands will remain in view at all times. Rule three: You give nothing to her, she takes nothing from you. Do you agree to these rules?"

Knowing that somewhere, a camera is recording his response, Virgil nods. "Yes, I do."

"One more thing." Nico has not moved, and neither has Kayo. "Someone will be watching, and if you disregard the rules, you will be asked to leave."

Virgil nods. "I understand." He brings his wallet out of his jacket pocket, fishes out the black AMEX, and places the card on the spot indicated by the tabletop display. After a moment, the display erases, and Virgil collects his card. When he looks up, Nico is gone, and he and Kayo are alone together for the first time in three months.

Of course, he can't let on that he knows her, or that he's kissed those berry-stained lips, or that the night before she left on assignment, he gripped that butt in both hands, grinding her hips against his-

He coughs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "So," he ventures, as the soundproof door slides shut.

"They only record video, not audio," she murmurs. "We can talk a little." She leans forward to select a preset suite of music on the table, then taps a button and the table sinks until it's flush with the floor. The sensuous strains of _No Ordinary Love_ by Sade fills the space, and Kayo stretches her arms above her, graceful as a cat.

"Uh huh," Virgil mumbles. His hands are locked on the arms of the chair, but he deliberately keeps the rest of him relaxed, as if this is just another mission and he needs to stay loose, ready to jump at a moment's notice if necessary.

"Focus, Tracy," Kayo snaps, though her movements are still slow and her face is composed. "What are you doing here? It can't just be for the scenery."

He barks out a laugh. "Is that what you call it?" He huffs a sigh, trying to concentrate. "Did you get Lady P's message?"

She turns, giving him a close up view of just how far the dress plunges in the back. "In the seal on your envelope? Yes." Kayo bends her knees, dipping to brush the hem of her ultra-short skirt over his thighs. "I just don't get why she sent _you_ of all people to deliver it."

"She said I could get in here easily, and that made me, quote, 'the ideal candidate.'" He snorts. "I don't know if I'll be able to look Penny in the face again."

"Seems your misspent youth was good for _something_." Kayo smiles, spinning like a music box ballerina to straddle his lap. She tosses her head back, letting the sunset flame of her hair arc through the black-lit atmosphere. "You should see the look on your face."

Bourbon sears its way down his throat, despite the ice, but he doesn't recall picking up his glass. He sets it down on a side table within reach, and then latches his hands around the chair arms once more. "Oh, I'm sure it's priceless."

She untangles herself from him, moving over to a brass pole set into the corner of the space. "Absolutely. Almost worth going on this wild goose chase of a mission." Kayo grips the pole and swings herself around clockwise, kicking off her shoes in the process.

Virgil makes a mental note to find a corner of the island's gym where he can install a pole. "Oh? Can you talk about it?"

Instead of answering, Kayo grips the pole with her thighs and lets go with her hands, then walks herself over backwards only to fling herself at the brass again, pointing her toes and twirling in a way that makes the breath catch in his chest. At the bottom, she rests one foot on the floor and pushes off, sending her up the pole feet first, the brass lined up against her spine. She hangs there for a moment, then grips the pole with her legs, places her hands on the floor, and unfolds into an aerial version of the splits.

His jeans are suddenly getting very tight, and yes, he can confirm that all she's wearing is the dress and the luminous makeup. "I'm gonna take _that_ as a no."

Kayo laughs; despite everything, she's enjoying this.

 _I keep crying,_ sings the smoky voice from the hidden speakers. _I keep trying for you...there's nothing like you and I, baby…_

A discreet cough sounds in Virgil's ear. "I, uh, hate to break up the party," John says, the edges of a smirk playing through his words. "Sounds like you two are having a good time, but you're gonna need to wrap this up."

"Why's that?" Virgil is surprised he has the breath to speak, much less to sound halfway coherent.

"I'm monitoring law enforcement in the area. You're about ten minutes away from being raided."

Instantly, Virgil is on alert. "We need to move," he tells Kayo, keeping his face composed. "The club is going to be raided."

"Hmm." Kayo rolls back up to a standing position and smoothes her skirt down over her hips. "Well, this was a waste of three months." She fetches her shoes and slips them on, then steps up in front of him. "What do you say, are you ready to turn in your membership?"

He shrugs and grins. "No big loss, considering what I've got at home-and by the way, you're going to finish what you started here as soon as you get back."

"Can't wait." With a wicked smile, Kayo tips forward and takes his face in her hands, bringing him in for a smouldering kiss, while he lets his hands wander up her skirt to caress her silken flanks.

In less than ten seconds, the lights are on full, the music stops, and Nico and the bouncer are at the door. The glass retracts, and Nico grabs Kayo to pull her away from Virgil. Bernard pushes his way into the space, his expression one of cool disappointment.

He turns first to Kayo. "Shadow, are you all right?"

As he looks at Kayo standing primly in her killer shoes, Virgil hears his grandmother's voice in his head. _Butter wouldn't melt…_

"Yes, I'm fine."

"I'm glad to hear that. However, from what we witnessed, you initiated an unauthorized form of contact with a guest. In keeping with our policy, Nico will escort you to your dressing room and off the property." He turns to Virgil. "Mr. Tracy, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He holds out his hand, palm up. "Your key, please."

It's another two weeks before Kayo returns to the island, but the whole house is looking forward to her arrival. The fridge is stocked with her favorite goodies, and Virgil himself has gone out to the garden this morning to cut a huge bouquet of lilies for her room. As he returns to the kitchen from delivering the vase, Scott is pouring himself a cup of coffee, and Gordon is helping Alan with homework over bowls of Fruity O's and soymilk.

In the midst of this charming domestic scene, Grandma stalks into the kitchen, wearing a sweatband and carrying a towel slung over her shoulder. "All right," she demands. "Can someone please tell me who put up a _stripper pole_ next to my treadmill?"

Scott chokes, decorating his shirt with his mouthful of coffee.

Gordon claps his hands over Alan's ears, only to jerk them away when Alan thwaps him in the head. "No way!" Gordon crows. "Virgil, you dog, is that for Kayo?"

Scott pours his coffee in the sink and wipes ineffectively at his ruined shirt. "This is _way_ too much information for me this early in the morning," he says, exiting the kitchen with a wave.

The younger two are nearly rolling in the floor laughing, and Virgil is just a few steps behind them. He wipes his watering eyes on the hem of his flannel shirt. "Well Grandma," Virgil says with a shrug, "lots of ladies pole dance for fitness. I'm sure if you ask, Kayo can teach you a few moves."

This sends Gordon and Alan into another round of hysteria. Grandma sighs and turns away, shaking her head. "Boys," she mutters, and heads back downstairs.


	12. In My Molly's Chambers

**Twelve: In My Molly's Chambers**

If there's one part of Kayo's job that she does not enjoy in the least, it's this: Seeing the boys at their worst, their most vulnerable, their most raw and ripped open.

Such are the words that run through Kayo's mind as she watches Scott stalk like a caged lion around his father's plush office atop Tracy Towers, arms crossed, brows together. Virgil sits on the sofa, head bowed, elbows on knees. He's fiddling with something in his fingers; a bright piece of metal that winks in the light.

Jeff Tracy is not what Kayo would call a big man; his son Scott is an inch or two taller, and broader in the shoulders. However, Jeff's mere presence, weighted by his money and power and influence, make him seem much larger than life, even as he sits behind his desk. His pen flashes a few times as he signs various documents, and he hands them without looking to the man in the three-piece suit who is standing behind him. After the last one is signed, Jeff looks up and nods, and the lawyer gathers the papers and leaves. When the door closes silently behind the lawyer, Jeff removes his glasses, takes a deep breath and rubs his hands over his face. His stubble scratches against his palms, speaking eloquently of the fact that he was awakened from sleep to handle this situation.

The room is so quiet, Kayo can hear the squish of Scott's Chucks against the carpet. Jeff walks to the window and looks out at the early morning Los Angeles landscape, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Well, Virgil," he says into the silence. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

The young man in question shuts his eyes and stops fidgeting, enveloping the bit of metal in one fist. "I'm sorry, Father."

Kayo stiffens; the only time the boys call Jeff 'Father' and not 'Dad' is when they're in deep, deep trouble. She glances up at Scott, who is still pacing, his mouth clamped shut against the stream of invective begging to spill from him. Kayo has already broken up one shouting match today.

Jeff turns to face his wayward third son. "'Sorry?' Son, you have many gifts, but understatement is not one of them." He grabs the remote for the huge television screen and keys it to life, flicking to an online news feed. The pictures are three feet tall, and in lurid living color. "'Billionaire Boy Marries Busty Barmaid,'" Jeff quotes from the headline printed above the overexposed photo of Virgil in a rumpled tux, shirt open to the waist, his arm around a voluptuous blonde woman in a skin-tight white mini-dress and Lucite platform heels. A froth of white tulle is pinned atop her lush curls as an abbreviated veil, and she is carrying a bouquet of white roses. There are several more photos; one of the two in a kiss so deep the photographer caught the wet gleam of entwined tongues, another with the newlyweds laughing with the Elvis impersonator who has obviously just pronounced them husband and wife.

"Virgil Grissom, I miss your mother every day, but if it were a choice between her being in the ground and her seeing these photographs, I'd dig her grave myself."

At this, Scott gasps and stops pacing, and even Kayo feels a stab of pain. To invoke Lucille Tracy's memory is sacred among her boys, and Kayo knows that this hurts Virgil worse than if Jeff had pulled out the loaded pistol kept under the desk and shot him through the heart.

Virgil has not looked up, but at his father's words, he puts his head in his hands, allowing the object to fall to the floor. Kayo moves to pick it up: It's the three-carat diamond ring that was, until a few hours ago, property of the new Mrs. Tracy. Jeff holds out his hand, and Kayo drops the ring into his palm. He looks at it appraisingly, then slips it into the pocket of his button-down shirt.

"I'm glad that you at least managed to get the ring back," Jeff says mildly. "Tiffany?"

Virgil nods miserably. "Yes. Yessir."

Scott snorts. "What do you know, Virge? You still have good taste even when you're a behaving like an complete idiot."

"That's enough, Scott _,_ " Jeff warns.

"Sorry, Father," Scott murmurs contritely, not looking sorry in the least.

Kayo feels like she might be sick. She wishes her father were here; he'd know how to support Jeff, how to help him get Virgil back in line and talk Scott off the ragged edge of disappointment and anger. She feels so helpless, sitting like a stone amongst these three men she loves. However, Kyrano is on the other side of the world, chasing rumors of his half-brother, thus necessitating Kayo's presence as his stand-in. She is only eighteen, for all her father's training, and feels it.

For the first time, Virgil ventures a question. "So...what happens now?"

Jeff comes to sit on the sofa in front of Virgil in the 'conversation' area of the office. "I'm assuming that this was a true mistake, no? You have no intention of remaining attached to this young lady, correct?"

"Her name was- _is_ -Misty," Virgil replies with just a touch of indignation at the repeated omission of his bride's personhood. "No, I, we decided that it's best if we...go our separate ways. For both of us."

"She got her fifteen minutes of fame, a romp in the hay, and lifetime alimony," Scott snarls. "Pretty good for a few hours' work, I'd say."

At this, Kayo's blood turns to fire in her veins. "Let's go, Scott," she snaps, and to her credit, all three Tracys whip their heads up in surprise at the trademark Kyrano authority in her voice.

"No," Virgil says weakly. "He's right. This was ridiculous, and it's my fault."

Jeff's frown deepens. " _Is_ Scott right? Did you have relations with this girl?"

Virgil colors to the roots of his hair. "Yes, Father."

The memory of their night together not six months prior cuts into Kayo's heart so deeply that she expects to see her shirt soaked with red. Her ears are roaring and she can barely hear Jeff's reply: "I hope you were... _responsible_ , son."

The nauseated feeling creeps back into Kayo's stomach as Virgil nods. "I used a-" his eyes flash to Kayo, and then back at the carpet-"a condom, Father. She insisted."

"Hmm. Seems as if _she_ might have been the responsible one in this marriage," Jeff quips. "Are you sure you want a divorce? I can call the legal team and have them shred the papers if you'd like."

" _Dad."_ This from Scott; if his father deigns to make a joke, it's a signal that they may just survive this after all.

"Virgil," Jeff begins, heaving a sigh and running hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. "I know this has been a rough year for all of us. Gordon's crash was a terrible thing for us to live through, but we did, and I'd like to think it'd made us stronger in the end." He clasps his hands together and leans forward, elbows on knees, mirroring his son's posture. "We need to _stay_ strong, son. There's things in the works that I can't talk about yet, but I'll need your help. I can't tend to both _that_ and _you_ at the same time. Do you understand?"

Kayo feels more than sees Scott come slowly to attention beside her. This is _The Project_ , the _Legacy_ , the _Life's Work_ that will soon be revealed, the holy of holies, never to be played around with and only mentioned in hushed tones thus far. Virgil hears his father's meaning, because he comes to attention just as Scott has. "You mean-the Thunderbird Project? You still want me to-"

Jeff clasps Virgil's shoulder with a strong, scarred hand. "I don't just _want_ you, son, I _need_ you." He glances up at Scott, and Kayo's eyes widen as Jeff looks over at her as well. "I'm going to need _all_ of you. We need to be strong. Unbreakable. United." He shakes Virgil's shoulder gently for emphasis. "Can I depend on you, son? No more foolishness."

Virgil has suddenly gained starch to his spine even as he gulps back tears. "I won't let you down, sir."

"Good." He leans forward and clasps Virgil in a hug; his son clings and buries his head in his father's shoulder like a child. "Let's put this behind us and move forward as a family."

Years, later, in the wee hours of a Tracy Island night, Kayo sits with Virgil's head resting in her lap, sifting his hair through her fingers as soft piano jazz plays from the speakers at the head of his bed. The memory of that morning is replaying in her mind, but she's not quite sure why.

She glances down at the man sleeping peacefully in her embrace, his powerful frame at repose, his hair falling across his brow and his mouth relaxed into a soft near-smile. He is hers, heart, body and soul, his youthful indiscretions long gone, as if committed by someone else in another lifetime. Kayo chuckles to herself; the only things the erstwhile Mrs. Tracy has over her is a ring and an actual, if abbreviated, ceremony.

Maybe they should think about it, she muses, as Virgil stirs and clasps one arm around her waist. Maybe it's time. Maybe that's why that memory has surfaced, of a wedding gone wrong to inspire a union that has all the potential to go right.

She wonders if his mother would have been pleased, and settles to sleep in her beloved's arms.


	13. Till I'm Found

_AN: Possible trigger for discussion of religion (Catholicism)._

 **Thirteen: 'Till I'm Found**

Kayo can't sleep.

She can't remember the last time she'd lain awake hours after everyone else went to bed, but it doesn't make her current reality any easier.

She's tried meditating. She's tried reading. She's turned on some soft music, straightened her duvet, fluffed her pillow, and burrowed deep into her comfortable bed, but still she watches the blue numbers floating above her clock. _0201_ , read the display. Then: _0202._

She sighed and throws back the covers, turns off the music, and pads across the room on silent feet, feeling her yoga pants swish around her ankles. The tank top is comfortable in the South Pacific night, so she leaves her hoodie at the foot of her bed. She smoothes her hair back into a knot and winds her hair band around it to keep it in place, then opens her door and walks soundlessly down the stairs to the lounge.

The moon glitters on the waves beyond the windows, and she lingers for a moment to watch the hypnotic motion. She's lived on Tracy Island for over five years now, but the ocean view never gets old. It would never be just scenery, she thinks, watching the wind stir the leaves of the garden and play with the fuzzy tops of the palm trees. Light glimmers in the depths of the pool, turning the water the exact color of John's eyes, and she smiles, sending a wordless thought of love and greeting to their much-missed space monitor.

The lounge is the nexus of both the house and the operations of International Rescue, and now it is finally dark and silent, when normally it is full of light and activity. Every so often, she'll pass it on her way out of the house on assignment or from grabbing the rare midnight snack, and gentle snores from one Tracy or other will be rolling over the well-loved furnishings, signaling that someone has fallen asleep and been left to lay peacefully where they'd landed. Once, she's seen Scott lying there, head pillowed on his arms, his book fallen from his hand to lay splayed on the floor, and she stopped to drape a blanket over him. Gordon and Alan are more frequent lounge-crashers, the flickering light of the monitor painting their faces as they lay sprawled, limbs tangled, drooling on each other. With an inward chuckle, she's shut off the monitor and headed back to her room without disturbing them.

She's caught John sitting there once, reading by the small light clipped onto his book, legs drawn up and a steaming mug by his elbow. He'd glanced up, squinting as his eyes adjusted, then waved and turned back to his reading. After a moment's thought, she got her own steaming mug and sank down on the sofa opposite, just to be near him for a while. He looked a silent question at her, then when it was clear she wasn't there for conversation, turned contentedly back to his book. She'd woken up at dawn, cuddled in the blanket that had been over John's knees, their mugs and his book nowhere to be seen.

Tonight, however, the lounge is deserted, and after a stop in the kitchen for a mug of Ovaltine in warm almond milk, Kayo grabs a blanket from the compartment under the steps and curls up where she can see the moon shining on the water. Looking up to her right, she spots the six oil portraits hanging on the wall, recalling her pride and nervousness when Jeff asked her to sit for her own. She's been a part of the Tracy family for years, has practically grown up with Jeff's boys, but the day she'd donned her teal-green version of the boys' blues was a thrill she would recall for a lifetime.

Lost in musings about her early missions as Thunderbird Shadow, Kayo doesn't hear the quiet scuff of bare feet against the teak boards until a large dark shape crosses between her and the moonlit windows. She jumps, nearly spilling her drink in her lap, but then she takes a breath as the blocky shadow coalesces into Virgil's stocky form. He doesn't speak, and she guesses that he doesn't see her sitting in the shadows, so she keeps silent and just enjoys watching him.

Virgil also pauses to look out at the waves for a long moment, laying his fingertips on the glass as if attempting to touch the dancing sparkles of light. Soon, however, he turns from the view and sinks down on the padded bench before the baby grand piano. Kayo's brows meet for an instant, curious as to what has drawn him to the instrument in the middle of the night.

Virgil pulls up the cover on the keyboard and stows it with a whisper of well-oiled hinges. He sits absorbed in thought for a few heartbeats, then lifts his hands and gently presses the keys, coaxing a quiet chord from the perfectly-tuned strings. Kayo watches him in fascination; she's seen him play many times, and has even lent her inexperienced fingers to a few chords as he plays something more complex, but these notes sound tentative, even a little melancholy. Maybe it is the fact that this was the only sound save that of the waves, but Kayo finds herself absolutely spellbound.

It takes a moment, but she realizes that the sprinkling of notes has become a thread of melody, and has gained a tinge of hope and quiet strength. Soon, she hears a sound above the struck notes, and she realizes Virgil is humming along. A few more waves ebbed and flowed, and then he is singing under his breath in a voice that reminds her of dark honey.

 _Before I spoke a word, You were singing over me_

 _You have been so, so good to me_

 _Before I took a breath, You breathed Your life in me_

 _You have been so, so kind to me…_

 _Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God_

 _Oh, it chases me down, fights 'til I'm found, leaves the ninety-nine_

 _I couldn't earn it, and I don't deserve it, still, You give Yourself away_

 _Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God, yeah…_

Tears spring to Kayo's eyes at the raw emotion in the words. Faith is something not often discussed in the Tracy household, but she can recall meals begun with five heads bowed around the table. She's seen Scott make the Sign of the Cross while heading over to his load-in chute, and she knows for a fact that Gordon still wears the St. Christopher medal that his mother gave to his father before Jeff's mission to Mars. She hasn't thought about it in years, but a solo expedition to the opposite side of the island resulted in her discovery of a marble bench and a pure white statue of the Virgin Mary perched on an outcropping high above the Pacific.

Ruth has mentioned once how Lucille Tracy began the faith formation of her boys, but after his wife's death, Jeff had been much too busy-and, Kayo thinks, too angry-to continue. Kayo recalls a few Christmas Eves and Easter Sundays crowded between Virgil and Gordon in the hard pew at St. Andrew's in Independence, as Ruth valiantly tried to pick up where Lucy had left off, but as the boys grew, those visits stopped as well. Now, hearing these tender words from Virgil seems too private, but Kayo can't move without risking discovery. She stays where she is, her heart aching from missing a woman she's never met.

Virgil's eyes are closed now, his fingers finding the keys unerringly, and Kayo wonders how many times he'd played this song to know it so well. She wonders how many times she's laid not far from this very room, oblivious in sleep as he pours out his heart to a silent house. He raises his voice again, but still so quietly that she can barely hear him above the piano.

 _When I was Your foe, still Your love fought for me_

 _You have been so, so good to me_

 _When I felt no worth, You paid it all for me_

 _You have been so, so kind to me…_

Kayo looks away to the portrait wall again, and notices that the eyes in John's portrait are lit, but the holograph isn't projecting. She smiles, wondering if John has asked a special favor of his younger brother, or if John, too, is insomniac and decided to listen in.

 _There's no shadow You won't light up_

 _Mountain You won't climb up_

 _Coming after me_

 _There's no wall You won't kick down_

 _Lie You won't tear down_

 _Coming after me_

Virgil repeats the chorus a few times, clearly caught up in the music as well as a moment of timeless communion with the God his mother introduced him to as a child. Kayo herself isn't all that steady when it comes to faith, but the thought of being sought after, of being protected, of being pursued by love strikes a deep chord within her, since the man with the music welling up from inside him has done just that with her.

She gives an inward sigh; her adult life hasn't been the most pristine-especially when it comes to the pianist himself. She willingly gave him her innocence, back when she had been too young to understand what it was she was giving away. She's committed several shameless indiscretions with him over the years, but through it all she's discovered that she loves Virgil with everything she has, and will, as far as she can see, love none other until she draws her last breath. He had taken longer to come around to that conclusion, and had been rather careless in his younger days, but now they were tightly bound to one another. Surely his mother would have seen the good in that, she thinks.

In fact, she muses, none of their private lives had been shining examples of purity over the years-except for Alan, and that is mainly because he's too young to follow his brothers into some of their sins. The strain of fulfilling their father's legacy has rubbed them raw at times, nearly setting their comms on fire with dialogue that would have no doubt made their mother blush with shame. Their after-hours pursuits are also suspect at times, between Gordon's partying and Scott's flashpoint temper, but for the most part, the lessons they'd learned at their mother's knee are holding in her absence.

Kayo catches a tiny flicker of light out of the corner of her eye, and a glance toward the wall of portraits tells her that Alan, too, is listening. As she watches, Gordon's painted features light, followed by Scott's, but not a word is said among them.

Virgil's eyes are open now, but his fingers are still pressing lightly, as if he is unaware that the household is awake and listening to his impromptu concert. He is lost somewhere between memory and music, Kayo thinks, and though her throat aches with sobs and her eyes swim with unshed tears, she is glad that dawn is still hours away. Her mug is cold, so she sets it aside and stretches out the length of the couch, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Her eyes are finally growing heavy, so she lets them close as the music continues to wash over her like the waves outside.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wakes her, and she opens her eyes to see Virgil sitting on the couch opposite her, two mugs perched on the table. He is studying her intently in the light of early dawn, elbows on pajama-clad knees, heather gray teeshirt emblazoned with a black iR logo fitted to his muscular chest and shoulders. His hair is rumpled, his jaw is smudged with stubble, but to her, he is the most beautiful sight to wake up to.

"'Morning," she murmurs, stretching cat-like under the warm duvet. "You're up early."

He smiles, but it fades quickly to be replaced by his former expression, somewhere between thoughtfulness and worry. He is fiddling with something in his hands; a small, dark object that he turns over and over in his fingertips, and she sits up on one elbow to examine it more closely.

Without a word, he holds the object out to her, and she sits up fully to take it into her hands. It is a small box covered in black velvet, and she opens it to reveal a ring-a diamond solitaire set into a band of gleaming gold. Her breath catches in her chest, and she raises her eyes to his in question.

"Marry me?" he asks.

"Yes," she replies.

He smiles, and this time it doesn't fade.

 _An: 'Reckless Love' by Cory Asbury/Bethel Music_


End file.
